


A Rose In Winter

by Revans_Mask



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Margaery Tyrell Lives, Past Rape/Non-con, Previous Margaery/Tommen, Previous Sansa/Ramsay, Secret Relationship, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revans_Mask/pseuds/Revans_Mask
Summary: After narrowly escaping the destruction of the Great Sept, Margaery Tyrell flees north to Winterfell and a reunion with Sansa Stark.  Does their old friendship still exist, and can the two of them help one another to overcome the tragedies of their past?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's another dip into this fandom for me, this one inspired by learning that Sophie Turner said she'd like to see Sansa date Margaery shortly before 6x10 aired. What is fanfiction for if not to explore such ideas? This one begins after Jon has left for Dragonstone but before Bran returns to Winterfell. I hope you like it and please leave feedback.

The winter wind slashed across her face, and Margaery Tyrell pulled her hood tighter. Even the heavy wool wasn’t enough to truly keep out the cold, but she would take what she could get. Growing up in Highgarden, she had never imagined weather like this. She had heard tales of northern winters to be sure, but experiencing one for herself was altogether different. Her face and hands were numb, her legs burned from too many leagues of hard walking, and her feet grew more painfully sore with every step.

At least her journey was almost over. Even through the falling snow, the great, grey walls of Winterfell were visible, and the sight of them gave Margaery renewed strength. She had high hopes for her reception there. Once, she and Sansa had been close friends, sharing an intimacy beyond the courtesies demanded of two women marrying into the same family.

But though she had decided to come north in large part based on that bond, Margaery couldn’t be sure it still held. A long time had passed since those sun-lit days in the gardens of the Red Keep, and a great deal had happened to both of the women who had shared them. She couldn’t know how Sansa felt about her now, or how she would react to Margaery’s unexpected reappearance.

_As long as she lets me in out of this snow, I’ll make do._

The castle’s gates were mercifully open when she approached them, and a pair of guards lounged outside. “Who goes there?” the taller and uglier of the pair demanded.

Not long ago, Margaery wouldn’t have had to answer that question herself. She’d been Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, with heralds to announce her arrival and attendants to clear her way. Lacking them, she pushed back her hood and summoned up as much of her former royal dignity as she could manage, half-frozen and exhausted as she was.

“Lady Margaery of House Tyrell.” Somewhere around White Harbor she’d decided to use that title when she arrived at Winterfell. _Queen Margaery_ might call up unwelcome associations with the Lannisters, and the people in the north hated the lions as much as she did.

The shorter guard broke out laughing. “ _You’re_ Margaery Bloody Tyrell? Next thing, you’ll tell me Baelor the Blessed is just down the road with his three virgin sisters right behind him.”

“What kind of fools do you take us for, girl?” the taller man added with a derisive snort. “Either give us your real name and state your business, or bugger off.”

The obvious move would have been to insist that Sansa could confirm her identity, but Margaery’s brain wasn’t as frozen as her body. There was no way two gate guards would disturb the Lady of Winterfell on the word of a bedraggled traveler. To make a bridge to Sansa, she had to speak to someone with more authority.

Fortunately, she was not entirely devoid of the universal means of persuasion. Reaching under her cloak, Margaery produced two of the last gold pieces that remained from the sale of her jewels. “I’m afraid my business is rather complicated. If you could perhaps direct me to someone unoccupied with other duties who could help me to sort it out, I would be immensely grateful.”

If Margaery had seemed more dangerous, the guards might have hesitated to take the bribe, but from time to time, there were advantages to being a woman travelling alone. Their eyes lit up at the sight of her gold, and she could practically see them spending this windfall in their minds.

“Yeah, we should be able to do that,” the shorter guard said, quickly palming his gold piece.

The taller guard took his coin as well. “Go with Elden,” he told her gruffly. “I’ll mind the door.”

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Margaery followed the guard, evidently named Elden, into the courtyard. It was no warmer there, but being inside the walls made her feel a bit better. Now, she just had to persuade the sergeant or whoever they were taking her to meet…

“Margaery?”

At the sound of her name, Margaery’s head whipped around. Sansa stood high above her on a wooden walkway overlooking the courtyard, and though there was a middle-aged man in heavy furs beside her and pair of guards not far behind them, it was her old friend who had Margaery’s complete attention.

Sansa had always been tall, but now there was something truly majestic about her, a commanding presence to accompany a beauty that was in no way hidden by her heavy cloak. This was Sansa’s place, and she seemed at home here in a way she never had in King’s Landing.

“Hello, Lady Sansa.” Margaery accompanied her words with a smile, but her heart fluttered uneasily. This was the moment when she would find out if the old affection that had brought her here still existed, or if she had made another terrible mistake.

Mercifully, Sansa smiled back. The expression was more guarded than it used to be, but it still held genuine warmth. “Lady Margaery. It’s wonderful to see you again.” She turned toward Elden, who had a dumbstruck expression on his broad face. “It is, however, something of a surprise. Why wasn’t I informed of her arrival?”

Margaery had read Sansa’s bearing correctly; there was a tone of command in her voice that was enough to make the guard squirm. “I’m sorry, milady. I didn’t know that she was here; I mean I didn’t think she was who she said she was.”

“Well, she is,” Sansa said curtly. “In the future, inform me immediately when you are admitting highborn visitors.”

“Yes, milady,” Elden blurted out before retreating toward the safety of his post.

Sansa turned to the man by her side. “We will finish this tomorrow, Lucas. Lady Margaery and I have much to discuss.”

“Of course, my lady.” The man made a small bow in her direction before leaving through a nearby door.

As she made her way toward Sansa, Margaery could feel the eyes of everyone else in the courtyard settling on her. Some were suspicious, while others merely felt curious, but her impulse was to draw away from all of them. She’d spent the journey to Winterfell trying to avoid attention, and now she was the focus of it. And yet, Sansa’s presence reassured her. As long as she was glad to see her, Margaery would be safe.

And she did seem glad. As Margaery climbed the stairs onto the walkway, Sansa stepped away from her guards, and when the two women met, she drew Margaery into her arms at once. Such an embrace was not uncommon between two highborn ladies, but this felt more intimate than mere politeness. Margaery pressed into the warmth of Sansa’s thick fur cloak, and when the other woman’s long hair fell across her face, she enjoyed the way it tickled her cheek.

The hug was pleasantly long, and even after it ended, Sansa smiled at her more broadly than before. “It really is good to see you again. Come, you must be freezing. There’s a fire in my chambers, and I’ll send for food and wine. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

***

Sansa watched Margaery gulp down her glass of mulled wine with pleasure. She had become so used to the Gods’ surprises being horrible that she was scarcely able to believe that such a wonderful one was real.

But it was. Margaery was here in the flesh, and no sooner had she finished her wine than she turned her attention to the bowl of stew beside it, wolfing it down with unfamiliar gusto. Sansa was unable resist a little teasing. In King’s Landing, Margaery had always been the perfect lady, elegant and graceful in every way that a younger, sillier Sansa had once aspired to be. “I didn’t know you were so fond of northern cuisine,” she said with a small laugh.

“Nor did I,” Margaery agreed brightly, taking the remark in the playful spirit it had been intended. “It must be an effect of your charming northern weather.”

Sansa took a sip of her own wine. “I’m just glad you made it here safely. Even in Winterfell, news of the destruction of the Great Sept caused quite a stir. I had heard you were dead.”

 _And I mourned that loss more than you know._ After so much death, Sansa had thought herself numb to it, but alone in her chambers, she had still shed bitter tears for Margaery. For the friendship they had shared, but for other things also. Things Sansa had never said, things that seeing Margaery again had brought back into her thoughts.

“I nearly was,” Margaery said softly. “I only barely managed to push my way out of the sept in time, and Loras…” She paused and Sansa could hear in her silence the same void that had covered her own heart since the day she had watched her father die. “After so long in prison, his spirit had been broken. I tried but he wouldn’t leave with me. Neither would my father.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were simple but Sansa truly meant them. In King’s Landing, Margaery had seemed a more fortunate version of herself, but fate, it seemed, had made them equal in the cruelest possible way.

“I know you are.” Margaery set aside her now-empty bowl and settled back into her chair. Warmed and fed, she looked more like her old self as she continued her story. “After the sept was destroyed, Cersei’s forces quickly took control of the city, and I knew that if they found me, I would be killed. Cersei and I had never been on the best of terms, and with everyone else in the city who opposed her dead, there was nothing to stop her from settling our feud for good.”

“I can well imagine.” There had always been venom in Cersei’s conversations with Sansa, and she had been no real threat the queen back then. A true rival like Margaery would have received no mercy. “But why not return to Highgarden? Doesn’t your grandmother rule there now?”

Margaery nodded. “She does. But that’s what Cersei would’ve expected me to do, and so the roads and ships going south would have been closely watched. Heading north, by contrast, was unexpected enough that I was able to make it here without her spies finding me.”

“Very clever.” It was the sort of plan Petyr Baelish would’ve suggested to Sansa if she had been in the same circumstances. _But I hope I can count on Margaery more than him._ Littlefinger was her advisor for now, but she would never truly trust him. Not after Ramsay.

“Grandmother always said that about me,” Margaery replied ruefully. “But I wasn’t clever enough. After the High Sparrow’s men arrested Loras, I was so frantic to save my brother that I fell right into Cersei’s trap. If only I had been more careful, none of this might have happened.”

Sansa leaned across the small table and brushed her hands over Margaery’s, resisting the urge to linger on the now-warm skin. “You might have made mistakes but you survived. Sometimes that’s all we can do.”

“I have done that,” Margaery said, her voice uncharacteristically bitter. “I have survived a mother, a father, a brother, and three husbands... Three times a queen and three times a widow… truly, it is a tale for the bards.”

Sansa wished there were words that would take away Margaery’s pain, but she knew better. Nothing had sufficed for her own griefs, and Margaery’s losses were no less. The most Sansa could offer was what Margaery had given her three years earlier: a little light in the dark place she was dwelling. “Three husbands is not so bad,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster. “I’ve already lost two myself.”

She was reward by a smile, if a small one. “As well as a betrothal. Although Joffery was not so great a loss for you.”

 _No, he was not._ “Nor for you, I suspect.”

“I suppose not,” Margaery agreed, but then the gloom seemed to descend around her once more. “Renly was a good man, though, and Tommen a sweet boy. They deserved better.”

Tommen had been little more to Sansa than a quiet younger brother, overshadowed by Joffery's flamboyant cruelty, and Renly she had only met in passing, but Margaery might well be right about them. That didn’t matter anymore though. Not if Margaery was going to find a way to carry on in spite of her tragedies. “I’m sure they did. But we have to live for the living.”

“We do.” Now it was Margaery’s turn to reach for Sansa’s hands, clasping them in her own. Her touch wasn’t forceful but affectionate and Sansa’s pulse quickened. The contact was intoxicating, and Sansa felt her reserved mask slipping further off as Margaery continued.

“I was so relieved when I learned that you and your brother had retaken Winterfell. After you disappeared from King’s Landing, I feared the worst, and there were such unsavory rumors about the Boltons...” The reminder of her tormentor sent a shiver down Sansa’s spine, and sensing it, Margaery squeezed her hands a little harder. “I’m sorry. I should not have said anything.”

“It’s all right. Ramsay was a monster, but that’s over and done with. I’m safe for now, and so are you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Margaery stood atop the battlement, watching in silence as the three ravens disappeared into the morning sky. Somehow, she seemed especially alone in that moment, and Sansa placed a hand on her shoulder. “It shouldn’t take long for them to reach Highgarden.”

“I hope you’re right,” Margaery said softly. “I can only imagine what’s been going through my grandmother’s mind since the sept was destroyed. She needs to know that at least one member of her family survived.”

“She will.” Sansa paused, smiling slightly. “I always liked Lady Olenna, you know.”

Margaery smiled back, an expression that seemed to Sansa a hundred times more brilliant than her own. Even when she had been at her most miserable in King’s Landing, a smile from Margaery had never failed to warm her heart, and it was no different now. “I’m glad to hear that. She means the world to me, but I know she’s not always the easiest person to get along with.”

“She does seem a bit prickly,” Sansa conceded. “But she was kind to me, and besides, she told the truth. In King’s Landing, that alone was worth appreciating.”

“That it was.”

Just then a sharp wind blew across their perch on the walls, and Sansa was impressed by how little Margaery shivered. Sansa had given her a proper, fur-lined northern cloak since she arrived at Winterfell, but more than that, Margaery seemed to be getting used to the cold. _Good_. _I want her to feel at home here, even if it’s just a temporary one._

Curious to find out just how temporary, Sansa asked, “So now that the ravens have been sent, what’s next? If you want to follow them to Highgarden, I can arrange a ship.”

“You’re too kind,” Margaery replied, “But I don’t think that would be a good idea at the moment. Things seem to be in turmoil in the south right now, and returning there might be dangerous. Assuming I’m not imposing too much on your hospitality, I think I’d be better off staying here in Winterfell a while longer.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sansa said, reluctant to show just how pleased she was that Margaery wasn’t leaving. “It’s not a burden at all. Honestly, I’m glad to have someone with your knowledge of southern politics here to advise me.”

“What about Littlefinger?”

“Lord Baelish is very clever,” Sansa said cautiously, “But he has his own priorities. And besides, the more council I can get, the better. Between Cersei taking power in King’s Landing, and Daenerys Targaryen returning to Westeros with three dragons and an army of Dothraki, matters have become steadily more complicated.”

Margaery smiled again, but this time the expression was rueful. “I suppose there is one benefit to the War of the Five Kings being replaced with one between queens.”

“And what’s that?”

“At least I won’t end up married to either of them.”

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh at that, but what she felt was more complicated than simple amusement. Margaery’s words made her think of something else the former queen had told her years ago. _Something you’ve been thinking about a lot more since she came back into your life._ “I’m not so sure about that,” she said playfully, “You did tell me some women prefer pretty girls, after all. Maybe Daenerys is one of then.”

“Maybe she is,” Margaery agreed. “But the world doesn’t let those girls wed, now does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” There had been unexpected bitterness in Margaery’s voice, and Sansa could feel it reaching her as well. The world had very definite rules for highborn women, and it hurt them when they didn’t obey.

 _Of course,_ Sansa thought, her hand drifting reflexively toward the scars on her back, _sometimes we do what’s expected of us and we get hurt anyway._

***

“Gods, I was such a fool back then.”

Margaery laughed at Sansa’s declaration, but the sound wasn’t cruel, only lyrical and charming. “And why is that?”

“Because…” Sansa paused to take a sip of her wine. After sending the ravens, the rest of her day had been consumed with other work, but she and Margaery had reunited at the end of it to relax. The couple of glasses she’d drunk so far hadn’t taken away her wits, but perhaps they loosened her tongue enough to make her finish her thought. “Because when you told me about how different women liked different sorts of people, I asked if your mother was the one who taught you that.”

Margaery’s laugh was louder. “And now you’re thinking that I had a more practical knowledge of such matters.”

“Something like that.” Sansa felt clumsier than she had in a long time. She had learned how to maintain her poise talking with the powerful and the dangerous, but somehow, Margaery could still make her feel like the silly girl she’d been when they first met.

Margaery, by contrast, seemed entirely comfortable as she replied, “I might have experimented a bit.”

Before she could think any better of it, Sansa asked the next question. “Just with the pretty boys, or…”

Her voice trailed off, but Margaery got the picture clearly enough. She took another drink of her wine, and the mischievous grin that had already been on her face grew broader. “Oh, there were some pretty girls too, if that’s what you were about to ask me. We can be every bit as fun, and a great deal safer.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed. She felt just as off-balance as ever as she said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, I’m sure you know how it goes. Say the wrong thing to the wrong boy and suddenly the kind of rumors that make it hard for us to find the right marriage get started. With girls though, there’s less suspicion. My grandmother once told me that men are too full of themselves to think we can have any fun without them.” Her eyebrow raised slightly. “A silly misconception, but one that can work to our benefit.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Sansa said, but her mouth was moving of it’s own accord. Her brain was otherwise occupied. Holding back inappropriate thoughts of Margaery had been hard enough before Sansa knew she had an interest in other women. Now, the best she could manage was to slowly drink down the last of her wine and hope that Margaery didn’t notice the way her skin was flushing.

She hoped in vain. Margaery leaned across the table, bringing her face tantalizingly closer. Sansa swallowed hard as Margaery asked, “So, why the interest in my personal affairs?”

Setting her now-empty goblet down, Sansa managed to control her voice, even if she couldn’t stop her heart from racing. If there was anything the last few years had taught her, it was how to keep her true feelings buried too deep to get her in trouble. _At least any more than I’m in now._ “Just curious, I suppose,” she said with what she hoped was a convincing laugh. “I haven’t exactly had the best luck with the boys.”

“Nor have I,” Margaery replied. “Not lately, anyway. But that’s not the reason I like pretty girls.”

Unlike Sansa, it sounded as if Margaery was trying to be honest. It was refreshing, but Sansa wasn’t sure if it was something she knew how to do anymore. “I didn’t mean to suggest it was,” she said. “Certainly, you’re the last person I would’ve thought was desperate to get men to notice them.”

Even as she said the words, Sansa realized that once more, she’d given away too much. “The last person?” Margaery, perceptive as ever, teased. “Would you like to elaborate on that?”

 _I do. Seven Gods, but I do._ Margaery had been a ray of light shinning into the pit Sansa had been trapped in at King’s Landing, and now, beyond hope, she had reappeared. Her smiles, her disclosures, her teasing: they all suggested that she was offering even more this time, if Sansa wanted it. And she did. She wanted to confess her feelings, to reach out and take Margaery into her arms, to kiss those perfect lips until the coldness in her heart was banished.

But her desire was exactly the problem. Admitting it would make her vulnerable, and as kind as Margaery had been, she was also a consummate player of the game, one who had arranged to be married to no less than three kings. Sansa might have liked her, but she couldn’t entirely trust her.

That was a truth that applied to almost everyone in her life. Jon was an exception, of course. His judgment might not always be the best, but he would never try to hurt her. Brienne had sworn an oath to her lady mother, and she didn’t have a dishonorable bone in her body. Everyone else, from the other northern lords to the knights of the Vale might be her allies, but they could only be let in so far.

“I don’t think so,” Sansa said after a longer hesitation than she would’ve liked. She hoped the words didn’t sound too cold, but if they were, that was a harsh necessity. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t afford to be anything other than the Lady of Winterfell.

***

Margaery shifted uneasily in the sitting room chair. The furniture might not have been as elegant as that in Highgarden, but it was comfortable enough; it was her thoughts that were unsettled. They had been that way ever since the previous night’s conversation with Sansa, and a morning spent in reflection had provided no relief.

If there was one thing her grandmother had taught Margaery, it was how to read the attractions of others. True, she had more practice with men than women, but she was still confident that Sansa’s feelings for her were more than friendly. Her awkward silences and blushes made that abundantly clear, to say nothing of the interest she had shown in Margaery’s past experiences with other women.

So why then, at the moment of truth, had Sansa demurred?   That, Margaery was having a harder time discerning. Even in King’s Landing, Sansa had been reticent, but whatever had happened to her in the interim had made her even more guarded, more difficult to know fully.

Whatever the answer, Margaery wanted it. Sansa might have been unwilling to be honest, but Margaery was clear about her own desires. The commanding woman Sansa had grown into was even more appealing than the lovely, wounded girl she had been when they first met, and after so much pain, they both deserved whatever happiness they could give each other.

“Hello, Lady Margaery.”

Margaery turned her head slowly, reluctantly pulling herself out of her own head. She had little interest in speaking with anyone else at the moment, and the man who’s voice she’d just heard was less appealing than most.

Still, she was nothing if not courteous. “Hello, Lord Baelish.”

Littlefinger stood in the sitting room’s doorway, dressed in heavier clothes than those he’d worn in King’s Landing, but otherwise looking just as Margaery remembered. Sansa had seemed more at home in Winterfell, but with Littlefinger, it felt as if location made no difference. There was something about him that was secure in his own head no matter where his body was.

“It gives me great pleasure see you alive and well, my lady,” Littlefinger said, although his expression made it hard to believe he truly meant that or anything else. A smile almost never left his face, but it was a sharp thing, all intrigue and no warmth.

“And you as well,” Margaery replied, concealing her disdain with a practiced ease. “It’s fortunate that you left King’s Landing when you did. When I was still there, I heard that Cersei was most displeased with your recent actions.”

“The atmosphere in the capital had become decidedly unfriendly,” Littlefinger agreed, “And besides, I have always had a fondness for the Lady Sansa. I decided that my time would better be spent aiding her against her enemies.”

Littlefinger might have been an accomplished liar, but he hadn’t been able to entirely hide the desire in his voice. “I’m sure she appreciated your help,” Margaery said coolly.

 _But not as much as you’d like, I suspect._ If Sansa reciprocated Littlefinger’s feelings, nothing was stopping her from acting on them. Indeed, the Lord Protector of the Vale would be a reasonable match for the Lady of Winterfell. But Sansa had done no such thing, and indeed, their recent conversation made Margaery think that she preferred to keep Littlefinger at arm’s length.

“She did,” Littlefinger said. “As I’m sure she appreciated the pleasant surprise of your arrival here. Indeed, it seems to be a time for surprising arrivals.” Margaery could tell Littlefinger appreciated the look of confusion on her face; he was a man who enjoyed knowing more than the person he was talking to. “I see you haven’t heard. The Night’s Watch returned Brandon Stark to Winterfell this morning.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Margaery said, trying to conceal her shock. This was even more unexpected than her own survival. The Seven Kingdoms believed that Theon Greyjoy had killed Brandon when he took Winterfell. But then, they had believed the same of Rickon, only to have him reappear in time to be murdered by Ramsay Bolton at the Battle of the Bastards, so Bran’s survival wasn’t impossible.

Littlefinger took a few steps closer to her, and his tone became more conspiratorial. “So it would seem. But it also presents complications that might be overlooked at such a happy moment.”

It certainly did that. Bran was Ned Stark’s last true-born son; alive, he could erode the support of the northern lords for Jon Snow as King in the North. But would he want to? And what would Sansa do if forced to chose?

“I’m sure that House Stark will be able to work out any problems that may arise,” she said with a smile that was almost as void of sincerity as Littlefinger’s own. Until she had a better handle on what this might mean, Margaery wasn’t going to be drawn into his games. She might not have been sure of a great deal about her current situation, but she did know this much: Petyr Baelish did not have either her or Sansa’s best interests at heart.


	3. Chapter 3

It seemed to Margaery as if she’d searched half of Winterfell before she finally found Sansa, sitting in the great hall. Without the sounds of feasting and song to fill it, the room seemed bleak in its size, and Sansa very small, alone at one of the long benches. Margaery said nothing as she approached, but she didn’t hide her footsteps either, and as she drew nearer, Sansa looked up.

To Margaery’s surprise, her eyes were red, but she still held her tone steady. “Lady Margaery. Did you need something?”

“Just to find you. Littlefinger told me that Bran had returned to Winterfell.”

“He did.” This time, Sansa’s voice cracked slightly, and Margaery was certain that the tears she’d been shedding weren’t ones of joy.

She took a seat besides Sansa. “Then what’s wrong? Does he want to challenge Jon’s claim?”

“Nothing is wrong. Bran has no interest in becoming Lord of Winterfell.”

Margaery put an arm around Sansa’s shoulder. “Sansa, I know you well enough to say when something’s troubling you. You can be honest with me.”

Sansa went still, and even through the thick cloak, Margaery could feel the tension in her body. There was a war taking place inside her; the desire to share battling against some deep reserve. “He’s different,” she finally said, quietly enough that Margaery had to lean closer to hear her.

“I would imagine so, after such a long time,” Margaery said gently. _I know you are._ When she first met Sansa, the Stark girl had already been damaged by Joffery and Cersei, but now her hurt went deeper. The ordeals she had been through since leaving King’s Landing had made her stronger, but only at the price of terrible pain.

“It’s more than that. I don’t even know what Bran is anymore. He can see things in the present, in the past…”

Sansa’s voice faded into silence, even as she drew closer. Her eyes closed and her head rested on Margaery’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Margaery said, but although her sympathy was genuine, she didn’t understand.

It wasn’t the first time since she’d travelled north. That had come when Sansa had told her there was an army of dead men mustering beyond the Wall. She didn't thinks Sansa was lying to her, but it was a concept so strange that she still hadn’t fully wrapped her mind around it.  Margaery suspected that somehow whatever had happened to Bran was similar, tied up in things a courtly education hadn’t remotely prepared her for.

“I know you are,” Sansa said, her voice still shaky. “You’ve always been very kind to me. I only wish…”

Margaery ran her fingers through the soft strands of Sansa’s hair. She needed to hear the answer, and just as importantly, she thought Sansa needed to say it. “What do you wish?”

Perhaps it had been the wrong question, because abruptly, Sansa straightened and pulled away from her. When she spoke again, her voice was reserved once more, the previous moment’s intimacy gone. “It doesn’t matter. What we want doesn’t matter.”

Margaery felt her guts twist.  “Why doesn’t it?” she demanded. She spoke without rancor but her voice was firm. Yet again, it had seemed that Sansa had been about to show her something real only to stop at the brink, but this time, Margaery wasn’t going to let it go so easily. “I know that terrible things have happened to you, but isn’t that all the more reason to take whatever chance at happiness you have?”

“Because I won’t get it,” Sansa declared bitterly. “That’s not what this world is. Even when it seems we’ve had a bit of luck, it will turn to ash soon enough.”

Margaery understood. After three failed marriages and so much death, how could she not? And yet, she wouldn’t give up either. “Maybe it will,” she said. “But if we don’t have even the hope that things can change for the better, then why go on? We have to at least try.”

She hoped her words would have an effect, but Margaery wasn’t prepared for what it was. All of a sudden, Sansa’s hands were on her face, and before Margaery could think about what was happening, they were kissing. It was rushed and nervous, and yet it was amazing all the same. There was such raw need in Sansa, and once Margaery had recovered her wits, she tried her best to return it.

One of her hands buried itself in Sansa’s long hair while the other circled her back, holding them close. In an instant, the chill of the empty hall was gone; everything was warm now, filled with the heat of _this_. Margaery didn’t know what that was, but she never wanted it to end.

But of course it did. It might not have been until their lips were bruised from the force of the kiss, and they were both flushed and gasping, but in the end, they had to draw back. Even then, neither of them said anything, instead starring wide-eyed at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

Then, both of them started talking at once. “Sansa,” Margaery began, even as Sansa was saying her name as well. Margaery laughed and put up her hands. “I’m sorry, go ahead.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Sansa said. She was blushing fiercely, although Margaery couldn’t say whether that was from arousal or embarrassment. _But either way, it’s adorable._ “I shouldn’t have done that, especially without asking you first.”

Margaery smiled indulgently. “I think we both know I’ve been wanting you to do that ever since I got here, Sansa.”

Sansa’s blush only deepened, and she looked away, abashed. “You may be right about that.”

“Then why was it a mistake?” Margaery asked. She was doing her best to stay calm, but the blood was pounding through her veins. She had been waiting eagerly for this, and the brief taste of it had only made the craving worse. If they were going to turn back now, she had to have a reason. “Is it that we’re both women? I know what the septons say about such things, but I’ve never given a fig for their opinions, and I don’t think you do either.”

Sansa shook her head slightly, still not willing to meet Margaery’s eyes. “That’s not it either.”

“Then what is it, Sansa? Please tell me, because from where I’m sitting, that was a _very_ good decision you just made. I wanted this, and clearly you did too, since you were the one who kissed me.”

“I did,” Sansa admitted, forcing the words out one at a time. “But it was still a mistake. I have my duty. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let myself do anything else.”

All at once, Margaery understood. Sansa had been hurt so many times that the only way she’d found to keep herself safe was to turn her heart to ice. Margaery didn’t know the details of what had happened with Bran, but it was clear Sansa had just had that lesson drummed into her one more time. If she let herself melt, even a little, she’d have to feel all the pain of her past, and open herself up to more of it in the future. It was no wonder she was scared, and if Margaery pushed her any harder, she’d only make it worse.

Instead, she put a hand on Sansa’s shoulder, making sure the gesture was only affectionate, not insistent. The words she had to say broke her heart, but she made herself say them anyway. “I understand that, and if you don’t feel this is wise, it’s all right. I will always be your friend, no matter what.”

There were tears forming in the corners on Sansa’s eyes, but she managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Margaery. As I said, you’ve always been very kind.”

***

“The night is dark and full of terrors.”

The red priestess who used to advise Jon had said those words, and alone in the blackness of her chambers, Sansa felt their truth. For once, it wasn’t Joffery or Cersei or Ramsay lodged in her head, however. Tonight, it was Bran and Margaery who had her twisting uncomfortably beneath her thick blankets, unable to find peace.

The rush of the day’s events had been overwhelming. When they had told her that her brother was alive, Sansa had felt a burst of the rarest, purest happiness. And then she saw him. It wasn’t just that he was different; they were all that. She, and Jon, and Margaery, and everyone else who’d survived the nightmares of the last few years had been changed by them.

Bran, though, she hardly recognized. Everything about him was cool and impersonal, without a hint of the excitable boy who used to climb all over Winterfell and dreamed of being a knight of the Kingsguard. Now he was the Three-Eyed Raven, whatever that meant, and he could see things in some way she didn’t understand.

_And the vision he thought it appropriate to share with you came from the worst night of your life._

Maybe the shock of that reunion was why she’d kissed Margaery. Her brother’s distance had made her want a connection with someone else, and Margaery had been there and sweet and… and that was a lie. Margaery hadn’t just been convenient. None of the few kisses Sansa had had in her life had been like that one. Not only had it been the only one she’d truly initiated, it was the only one that had made her whole body quiver. The ghost of Margaery’s lips, and of her hands, still lingered on Sansa in the best way.

And that was the real reason she couldn’t sleep. Sansa had learned to take her rest through pain and loss, but this desire, this moment of true pleasure was something deeply unfamiliar. She wasn’t used to it, and she didn’t know how to trust herself with it.

_For the Gods’ sake, you thought it was a good idea to marry Joffery. You even begged Father to let you do it._

Sansa sat up in bed, pushing back against the doubts that threatened to overwhelm her. She was being foolish. Margaery was no Joffery, and Sansa was no longer the silly, stupid girl who had wanted to marry him. In truth, she had never desired the prince. What she had wanted was to be a princess, and live in the capital, and have a life out of the stories she used to love. But the girl who had yearned for those things had died on the steps of the Sept of Baelor. Now, she was the Lady of Winterfell, and that was enough.

_More lies._

If that was enough, she wouldn’t be laying awake, burning with frustrated desire. That kiss wouldn’t have made her skin tingle in a way she thought wasn’t possible anymore. The truth was that as much as this scared her, she wanted it. She wanted Margaery, and fear wasn’t a good enough reason to lose the second chance fate had given her. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell.  She had faced down her monsters, and she had watched them die; she could face this as well.

Pushing off the covers, Sansa rose from her bed and lit a candle to dress by. She didn’t bother changing fully. Instead, she drew a dark cloak over her bed clothes, tying it tightly enough that no one would know the difference, at least not unless she wanted them to.

Before her courage could falter, Sansa picked up the candle holder and began the brief journey to Margaery’s room. The halls of Winterfell were mostly silent at that hour, letting her compose her words as she walked. The few people she did pass interrupted her with nothing more than a respectful, “My Lady.” The greetings were reassuring in their way. They reminded her that this was her place now, and that was another reason this time would be different from the pain that had come before. No matter what happened next, she would be safe.

When she arrived at Margaery’s door, Sansa hesitated, assailed by a final wave of doubts. These last few days, she had been so wrapped up in her own feelings that she had scarcely considered her friend’s. Her approaches and retreats had no doubt played havoc with Margaery’s emotions. Even if that hadn’t been what Sansa had intended, it had been cruel none the less. She might have concluded that she could trust Margaery, but would Margaery trust her?

She wouldn’t know unless she asked, and so, with a deep breath, Sansa knocked on the heavy wooden door. Two quick raps were all it took. The door opened and Margaery stood in front of her as if summoned from Sansa’s fevered thoughts. Her dressing gown wasn’t revealing but there was something intimate about seeing her in it, and Sansa’s heart beat even faster.

“Hello, Margaery.”

“Sansa? It’s quite late,” Margaery replied, sounding more awake then might have been expected. Sansa wondered if she’d been the only one kept from sleep by difficult thoughts.

“I know and I’m sorry. Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

Sansa stepped into the room, setting the candle down on a small table. By its light, she could see confusion in Margaery’s green eyes, and along with it, a measure of hope that gave her the strength to say the words she’d been practicing in her head.

“Earlier, you were right. About me, about us, about everything. As much as I value your friendship, I want more than that from you. If you still want to try, I think there’s just enough left in me to take one more chance.”

This time, it was Margaery who kissed her. She moved forward slowly enough that Sansa had plenty of opportunity to turn away, but when she didn’t, Margaery’s lips found hers. It was a softer kiss than their first one, but the heat of it made Sansa tremble all the same. With a shaking hand, she pushed the door closed behind them, and for the first time in what felt like an age, she let herself truly feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the buildup to that moment was worth it. There's still lots more to come, including some tender sexy times and lots of complications, so stay tuned.


	4. Chapter 4

When Sansa knocked on her door, Margaery had been conflicted. A part of her had been praying for just such a visitation, but if Sansa had been there to yank her emotions to and fro again, Margaery would just as soon have spent her time failing to sleep.

In an instant, Sansa’s words had banished Margaery’s fatigue and frustration, replacing them with surging joy. She had tried her best to be understanding in the face of Sansa’s hesitation, but she had wanted this desperately. Especially after so much loss, in a cold, strange place far from home, this sudden blessing couldn’t have been more welcome.

Sansa’s arms wrapped around her, and in their embrace, Margaery felt none of the afternoon’s doubts. Sansa seemed sure of what she wanted now, which was why Margaery felt comfortable moving things forward. Her tongue brushed against Sansa’s lips, and after a moment’s confusion, Sansa parted them. As the kiss opened up, Sansa moaned softly into her mouth, and a shiver ran through Margaery. She’d spent these last few years trying to make the right people want her and she’d nearly forgotten how good it felt to kiss someone she wanted just for herself.

When the kiss ended, Sansa didn’t say a word. Instead, she just stood there, wide-eyed, with an uncharacteristically goofy smile on her face. Margaery looked up into those bright blue orbs and laughed. “You’re staring.”

Sansa blushed, but she didn’t stop smiling. “The first day I saw you, I could hardly believe how beautiful you were. And now you’re really here with me and we’re really doing this.”

Margaery brushed her fingers across Sansa’s cheek, enjoying the way Sansa pressed against her. “You’re very sweet. And you can look as much as you want. I _really_ don’t mind.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Sansa sounded unsure of herself once again and Margaery could practically see her mind sorting through the implications and insinuations. “It’s only, I’ve never done something like this.” Her blush deepened as she stammered, “It’s not that I’m a maiden. It just wasn’t like this. With another woman, I mean. Or what I wanted.”

Margaery leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. None of what Sansa had said surprised her, but her words still gave Margaery pause. Sansa had little experience, and whatever there was had clearly been horrible. No matter what they decided to do that night, Margaery resolved to be gentle.

_She needs to know this can be something wonderful._

“Don’t worry, Sansa. I’m happy to just keeping kissing you. Anything else you want to do or to look at is entirely up to you.”

Sansa exhaled, and when she smiled at Margaery, the relief was clear on her face. “More kisses seem like a fine idea.”

“They certainly do.”

***

Sansa wasted no time taking Margaery back into her arms, but after that, she moved slowly. She had no doubt she wanted them to be together, but she was still figuring out the rest. Gradually, though, she opened up their kisses once more, letting the other woman’s sweet taste make her bolder. Sansa ran her fingers through Margaery’s hair, and when Margaery smiled up at her, Sansa’s heart fluttered. It was a relief to know nothing more was expected of her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t _want_ anything else. Ideas were floating through her head, exciting, and confusing, and a little frightening all at once.

_There’s no need to worry. I can always put a stop to this if it’s going too far for me._

Sansa took a step back, moving her hands to the clasp of her own cloak. “It seems silly for me to still be wearing this.” Margaery nodded, and Sansa undid the clasp. Her cloak slid open, and Sansa let it drop off of her shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t wear anything more elegant. Though I suppose if things hadn’t gone so well, you would never have known.”

Margaery laughed. “It certainly doesn’t bother me. You look wonderful like this.”

The two of them came together once more. Without the thick cloak, Sansa could feel more of Margaery’s shape against hers, and it was thrilling. She was swiftly realizing this was what she’d always wanted. None of the men who’d passed through her life had lit anything like this fire inside of her. The idea of being the lady of the young prince or the gallant knight was what she’d desired, nothing more.

Margaery made her want entirely different things and before she could reconsider those desires, Sansa said, “I think I’d like to see more of you.”

“I’d like that too.”

Margaery’s woolen shift was no doubt plainer than the nightgowns she’d worn back in King’s Landing, but watching her pull it off was still incredible alluring. When she tossed it to the floor, Sansa swallowed hard. Margaery was left in nothing but a simple pair of smallclothes, and her naked body was stunning. The way her hair cascaded down her bare shoulders, her sensuous curves, her creamy skin... Everything about her was gorgeous, and Sansa couldn’t stop herself from starring once again.

This time, Margaery didn’t tease, instead taking Sansa’s hand and leading her toward the bed. “Come. We should make ourselves comfortable.”

_Oh Gods._

Sansa’s heart was racing, but there was a spring in her step as she followed Margaery. She kicked off her shoes before laying down next to the other woman, not taking her eyes off of her for an instant. Now that Sansa had seen, she wanted to touch, but she wasn’t sure where to start.

Thankfully Margaery took hold of her trembling hand and placed it on a full breast. It was wonderfully soft, save for the nipple, which was hard against Sansa’s palm. She gave a tentative squeeze, and a gentle “ah,” came from Margaery.

The sound was enough to inflame Sansa’s desire, but she still began cautiously. She would pause after touching each new place on Margaery’s body, curious to see what the reactions would be. And they were a delight. Whether she was sliding her hand up Margaery’s leg, tracing the curve of her neck, or cupping her breasts, Sansa was rewarded with sighs and purrs that thrilled her.

But then Margaery began undoing the laces at the back of her nightgown and Sansa froze. Her desire melted away, replaced with unwanted memories and a fear that was no less sharp for being irrational.

Margaery stopped at once. Her hand pulled back from the laces, and instead she cupped Sansa’s cheek. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I only wanted to repay your affections.”

Sansa sucked in a deep breath, letting her saner mind reassert itself. This wasn’t then, and no one could be less like Ramsay than Margaery. Sansa could say the word, and this would be over, with no harm done.

“I want that. I do.” She leaned over and kissed Margaery softly. “It’s only… I’m not going to look the way you think.” She didn’t want to explain more. Margaery didn’t need the images of her torment, and Sansa didn’t want to recall them. Not now.

But she didn’t want to stop either. Rather than give Margaery permission to resume, Sansa picked up where she had left off, undoing the remaining laces herself. She knew she would need Margaery’s guidance soon enough, but for now, she needed to feel in control of this.

Margaery understood, or at least she didn’t protest. Instead, she just watched in patient silence. It was appreciated, but when the nightgown was off, Sansa could feel Margaery’s eyes moving over her, and on a sudden, panicky instinct, she drew her hands up to cover herself.

It wasn’t disgust that she saw on Margaery’s face, though. There was sympathy there, accompanied by desire, but nothing else. Margaery ran a hand across Sansa’s bare stomach, tracing a line on the skin that mercifully wasn’t as bright as it once had been. “Ramsay?”

“Yes,” Sansa whispered, looking away. “I told you, I’m not…”

“And I told you, there is nothing wrong with scars. Don’t you remember?”

In a flash, the evil memories vanished from Sansa’s head, replaced with a walk through the Red Keep’s gardens, arm in arm with the woman who now lay beside her. She’d been terrified by the prospect of her marriage to Tyrion, but being with Margaery had made those fears seem very distant.

_Rather like now, expect that she’s the only one you’re going to bed with._

Slowly, Sansa drew her hands back, letting Margaery take a better look. The former queen smiled. “Never fear. You’re lovely, Sansa. Everything I could wish for.”

Margaery’s hand replaced hers on her breast, and Sansa gasped. She had never fully appreciated its sensitivity, but now her back arched, her body eager for more. Margaery was happy to oblige. Her thumb brushed across a stiff nipple, and electricity shot straight down Sansa’s spine.

One of her hands fisted itself in the blankets while the other ran through Margaery’s hair. They had only just begun, and already Sansa didn’t know what to do with the feelings. At least not until Margaery kissed her again, long and deep. Sansa spilled her pleasure into Margaery’s mouth, releasing the whimpers and cries that the other woman’s dexterous fingers easily drew out of her. They circled her breasts, stroked her stomach, and caressed her sides, each touch driving Sansa steadily higher.

And yet there was a frustration that accompanied the pleasure. Margaery’s kisses had begun to drift downward, but as good as her lips felt tracing the curve of Sansa’s neck, they weren’t enough. Between her legs, Sansa felt an ache building, sweet and painful all at once.

The feeling only sharpened when Margaery’s tongue swirled around a stiff nipple. The bolt of pleasure it sent through Sansa was intense, but rather than satisfy her, it only made her want more, things she didn’t have the words to explain.

Rather than try, Sansa slid her thumbs beneath her smallclothes and pulled them down. Margaery’s eyes were bright as she watched, but she still asked, “Are you certain?”

Sansa’s mouth was dry, and her voice was shaking, but she still answered, “I am. It’s just, I’m not sure what I need.”

“Then allow me to show you.”

Margaery was asking for a great deal of trust, but Sansa was ready to give it. Over and over, Margaery had shown her that she’d stop in an instant if Sansa required it, and that was why she didn’t need her to. “Please do,” Sansa said softly, and then Margaery’s hand was on her face, brushing back a stray strand of hair to clear the way for a reassuring kiss.

“Lay back, and try not to worry. There’s nothing coming but pleasure.”

Sansa did as she’d been bidden, and once she was settled, Margaery’s hands began running along her legs, moving upward slowly but surely. Her touches were warm and soothing, gentle enough that Sansa scarcely noticed her legs being coaxed apart.

When Margaery’s hands reached her inner thighs though, a tremor ran through Sansa. Some of it was desire, but a fresh rush of anxiety joined it. Margaery seemed to notice, because she said, “Look at me. It’s all right. Anything you want is all right.”

Sansa starred into Margery’s eyes, and there she saw nothing but kindness. It reminded her of where she was, and that these touches were something she had asked for. Something that she wanted. “Go on, Margaery.”

Those touches soon became something quite extraordinary. Once it was clear Sansa was ready, Margaery wrapped one arm around her shoulder while the other returned to her inner thigh. Her slim fingers were deft, blazing trails across Sansa’s skin that made her shake with anticipation. She hadn’t realized how wet she’d become before Margaery reached her sex; nor had she known how good a touch there could be. Her explorations of herself had been clumsy and incomplete, and nowhere near as powerful as this.

Everywhere Margaery’s fingers went lit up and it wasn’t long before Sansa let out a gasp. The sound made Margaery smile, but as lovely as her face was, Sansa was finding it harder to focus on it. Her whole world was concentrating between her legs, and on the pleasure she was feeling.

And that was even before Margaery found her clit. Sansa had little experience with it, and none like this. Margaery coaxed it out from beneath her folds, and when she began circling the swollen point with her fingertips, Sansa’s hand gripped down hard on the blankets.

Her body twisted greedily, searching for even more of this new joy, and fortunately, Margaery wasn’t stingy with it. Her hand settled into a steady rhythm, while her lips found Sansa’s for more kisses. Sansa moaned and whimpered into her mouth, abandoning herself to the moment.

But when Margaery’s fingertips moved lower, Sansa hesitated. The sudden pressure against her entrance reminded her too much of other things. “Can you not?” she panted.

Margaery pulled back at once. “Of course. Should I stop?”

“No,” Sansa blurted out embarrassingly quickly. She still felt as if she might go mad without a release of whatever had been building inside her. “Just, don’t do it that way. The other thing, what you were doing before, was incredible.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Margaery didn’t resume immediately, instead running her hands along the rest of Sansa's body. Soon enough, the moment of doubt vanished into better things. Sansa lost herself in fresh kisses and further caresses, comfortable enough that she tensed not at all when Margaery’s hand slid between her legs once more.

It wasn’t long before the need within Sansa became almost unbearable. She had felt hints of something like it on those few nights she had dared to touch herself, but they couldn’t compare to the exquisite pressure building inside of her. Every steady stroke of Margaery’s fingers against her clit brought fresh delights, but it felt as if they were only a prelude to something still more powerful.

Sansa’s whole body was quivering, and coherent words were beyond her grasp. Margaery’s name was all she could find, and even that came out in a broken whimper. With one hand, Sansa clung to the blankets, and with the other to her lover, gripping Margaery’s back as she tried to brace herself against what was coming.

And yet it still caught her by surprise. The force of it, the ecstasy shooting not just through her sex but to every part of her, was like nothing Sansa had ever experienced. First she went rigid, and then she shook, trembling in Margaery’s arms as the first climax of her life ripped through her. The sheer intensity was almost too much, but there was Margaery, her body pressing against Sansa, her voice guiding her through.

“Oh, Sansa, yes,” she purred. “You’re so beautiful right now. So perfect.”

Margaery’s words only made Sansa cling tighter, clutching her lover desperately until the tremors passed. Margaery’s hand had stopped moving by then, but only once Sansa went still did she wrap it around her back. It was a welcome support.  Sansa’s whole body felt unsteady, but in Margaery’s arms, that didn’t matter.

“There,” Margaery whispered, her breath warm in Sansa’s ear. “Wasn’t that good?”

There were tears forming in Sansa’s eyes, born of relief and of a joy she had scarcely known was still in her. “Yes,” she gasped. “Oh Gods, yes.”

Those were all the words she could manage, so she buried her face in Margaery’s chest, trying to show with her affection how much this had meant to her. For once, she didn’t feel fear, or loss, or hurt, just warm in the embrace of a woman she truly trusted, a woman she was starting to believe that she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a tricky chapter to write. I hope I did justice to Sansa's complicated feelings. Next time, she'll try to reciprocate, and some complications will be discussed.


	5. Chapter 5

It was Margaery’s breathing that finally convinced Sansa to move. Laying against her lover’s chest, Sansa could feel its rise and fall, and at first, the motion was soothing, but eventually, she noticed its rapidity.

_Of course she’s still excited. You took all the pleasure._

The desire not to be selfish was enough to make Sansa lift her head from its comfortable resting place. As soon as she looked up, Margaery leaned over and kissed her. “Ah, you’re awake,” she teased.

“I have to be. After all, I owe you a favor.”

“You owe me nothing. I enjoyed that a great deal.”

“Well, then let’s say I…” Sansa paused. She had intended to continue their little verbal joust, but as pleasant as it was, her emotions were too close to the surface to be playful. “What you did for me was amazing, Margaery. I didn’t think I could feel that way, and I need to show you how much I appreciate it.”

She loved the way Margaery’s smile broadened. “Go ahead then. I didn’t want to push, but I certainly would like that.”

Her words made Sansa’s pulse quicken. Not with desire precisely. What she’d already done had been so intense that she doubted her body could take any more tonight. And yet, the thought of what was coming next thrilled her all the same.

The only trouble was, she didn’t know where to start. She wasn’t anxious in the way she had been before, just unsure of herself. “What would you like me to do?” Sansa asked, hoping the question sounded enticing rather than merely inept.

“Just think about what you like doing for yourself, and try it with me.”

For what felt like the hundredth time since Margaery had come back into her life, Sansa blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know much about that. My mother never taught me…”

Before she could even finish her sentence, Margaery was laughing, and then Sansa was too. Her unconscious echoing of her own foolish question was too ridiculous for her to help herself. Both of them shook with their amusement until finally Sansa caught her breath long enough to say, “I’m sorry I broke the mood. That was a silly thing to say.”

Margaery let out a final giggle. “It’s all right to laugh. This is supposed to be fun.”

Sansa felt her embarrassment passing, replaced with a newfound ease. It was a relief to remember that the realm wouldn’t crumble if she made a mistake tonight. “It certainly was that.”

“I’m very glad. Now, as for what you should do…” Margaery made a show of considering the problem, nibbling on her bottom lip in a way that made it very hard for Sansa not to interrupt her thoughts with a kiss. “How about you try to mimic what I did for you? Of course, not all girls like the same things, but it’s a good place to begin.”

“I can do that.” _At least I hope so_. Knowing that Margaery shared her feelings, discovering such incredible joys… Repaying Margaery’s kindness was the least she could do.

Nor would it be a hardship. Looking across the bed at Margaery, Sansa was staggered anew by her beauty. Eventually, she wanted to learn every part of her new lover’s body, in every way, but she had to start somewhere. _Her lips felt so good on my skin. Let’s try that._

A kiss on the curve of her neck made Margaery exhale, a sound that encouraged Sansa to plant more there. Margaery’s head tilted to the side, exposing skin that Sansa was happy to kiss. One of Margaery’s hands ran through her hair, stroking it affectionately. “Very good, Sansa. That’s very nice.”

Gradually, Sansa moved lower, lavishing attention on Margaery’s collarbone before reaching her breasts. They were so soft beneath her lips, and Sansa couldn’t resist kissing every inch of them. Pleased murmurs came from Margaery but after a minute, she brushed a finger over her nipple and said, “This is particularly sensitive.”

 _Yes, it was._ Sansa grinned as she remembered what Margaery’s tongue had felt like there. Margery’s were pink and stiff, and when Sansa kissed one of them, Margaery purred. The sound only grew louder when Sansa drew the hard point between her lips and ran her tongue over it. Margaery cupped the other breast in her own hand, and Sansa watched with fascination as she squeezed it, moaning all the while.

She felt as if she could spend the rest of the night on just this part, but she suspected Margaery would be feeling the same need Sansa had earlier, which meant she should move on. Tilting up her head, she found Margaery’s lips for a kiss. That was something else Sansa didn’t think she could tire of, especially with the heat she found there. She still wasn’t sure what she was doing, but Margery was clearly enjoying her attempts, and that knowledge made Sansa even bolder.

When she took hold of Margaery’s smallclothes, her lover lifted her hips, letting Sansa slide them off more easily.   Though Margaery was a woman like her, Sansa had never seen herself from this perspective. It was fascinating, but also slightly confusing, and Sansa paused, trying to decide how to proceed.

“Come here,” Margaery said. “Let me help you.” Sansa moved back up alongside her, shifting until she found a comfortable position at Margaery’s side. Once she had, Margaery spread her legs and took hold of Sansa’s wrist, guiding between her inner thighs.

Sansa took a breath. “Okay, then. Just let me know if I’m doing it right.”

“You’ll definitely know.” The devilish grin on Margaery’s face made Sansa’s heart beat faster. The idea of seeing Margaery’s reactions as she received pleasure was erotic in ways she couldn’t describe but hoped to learn a great deal more about.

_Time to see if you can make that happen._

Margaery’s thighs were soft, but even they were nothing compared to what it felt like when Sansa reached their juncture. Her folds were velvet, and the wetness there took Sansa’s breath away. She ran her fingertips through it, a light touch that made Margaery’s body jerk.

“Sansa,” she panted, and when their eyes met, the need in Margaery’s green ones was clear. Sansa remembered that Margaery had focused on her clit, so that was where she went next. It took a bit of exploring to find it, but Margaery’s hand helped guide her to the swollen ridge between her folds.

“Is that it?”

“Mm hmm,” Margaery purred. “You’ve got it.” Sansa applied a small amount of pressure, and Margaery nodded. “Like that. Not too hard, but not too soft either. Try painting little circles with your fingers.”

Sansa did her best, and though it was tricky to establish a good rhythm on the slick flesh, it was worth the effort. Once she’d figured out what she hoped was a reasonable pattern, Margaery’s mouth fell open, and the little gasps and sighs that began coming out might have been the sexiest things Sansa had ever heard. In spite of the trouble she had keeping her hand steady, Sansa couldn’t resist the distraction of kissing along the line of Margaery’s neck as she continued rubbing her.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered in Margaery’s ear. “I’m so lucky.”

“Me… too…” Margaery panted, and Sansa felt as if her heart might burst with joy. Seeing Margaery enjoying this so much was everything she had dreamt of, and more. However, it wasn’t long after she’d gotten comfortable with the pace that Margaery stopped her with a touch on her side. “Sansa, I know you didn’t want me inside you, but would you do that for me?”

Sansa was surprised that Margaery could form actual sentences just then –experience, she supposed –but she didn’t hesitate before replying with a, “Yes.” She had felt vulnerable when Margaery had begun touching her in that way, but if Margaery wanted it for herself, that wasn’t a problem.

Indeed, when Sansa probed Margaery’s entrance with a single finger, she found she enjoyed the feeling of slick heat enveloping her. She took her time sliding in, but it wasn’t difficult, and no sooner had she gotten all the way to the second knuckle when Margaery whimpered, “Another. Please.”

This time the fit was tighter, but from the way Margaery gasped, it was clear she enjoyed the pressure against her inner walls. “Now take me,” she gasped, her words dripping with desire.

There was enough wetness that Sansa found it easy to do as she’d been told. As she slid in and out, Margaery pushed back against her, angling herself so that her clit was grinding against the heel of Sansa’s hand. Sansa wouldn’t have thought of that herself, but once she realized what Margaery was doing, she tried to position her hand to help.

Margaery’s moans soon grew louder, making Sansa glad for the thick walls of the castle, especially because there was no way she could have brought herself to quiet Margaery. Her lover was absolutely stunning like this, and Sansa was enraptured by the sight of her coming undone. On impulse, she made her next thrust especially deep and Margaery’s body jerked harder than before. Sansa felt the silky walls around her squeeze down, and warm liquid coated her fingers.

She kissed Margaery long and deep, drinking in as much of her lover’s pleasure as she could. There was a surge of pride at having been its source, along with simple, bright happiness at having gotten to share something so amazing.

When the kiss ended, Margaery slumped down, her head flopping onto the pillows. She let out a little whimper when Sansa drew her fingers back, but it was replaced with a contented sight once the two of them had settled into a comfortable embrace. It was a sentiment Sansa heartily shared. Even if their passion had ebbed, being in each other’s arms was all that she wanted for now. Joy was far too rare not to appreciate when it came.

***

“That was absolutely wonderful,” Margaery purred. Her body still hummed from her climax, the sharper sensations having left behind a pleasant buzz as they receded. Sansa had plenty to learn when it came to technique, but she had been an eager, talented student, and more than that, she was who Margaery had wanted. All the expertise in the world wasn’t as important as being with the right person.

“So wonderful,” Sansa murmured. “I was so glad I could do that for you.” She snuggled up closer, her back pressing against Margaery’s breasts, her hair tickling her face. Her body felt relaxed in Margaery’s arms, at peace in a way Margaery couldn’t remember her being before.

“So am I. It’s one of the advantages to pretty girls, really.” Sansa seemed confused, so Margaery explained. “In my experience, boys have far less stamina. Once they get what they came for, they’re done. Girls, on the other hand, are generally ready to repay favors, as you put it.”

She ran her hand affectionately along Sansa’s stomach, teasing the bottoms of her breasts. Sansa let out a sharp sigh at the touch, but a moment later, she shifted uneasily and asked an unexpected question. “You still like them, though? Boys, I mean. Men.”

“I can.” Margaery placed a kiss on the side of Sansa’s neck. “Don’t worry, though. I like you the most.”

Sansa got this awkward smile that Margaery adored. “I like you the most too. But what I was trying to say was, I don’t think I do like men in that way. Is that strange?”

Margaery shrugged. “I’m no expert, but I think that some women are more like you and some are more like me. Whatever you are is fine with me.”

“That’s good.” Sansa shifted again, this time rolling out of Margaery’s arms and turning to face her. “Truly, it is. But not everyone is going to be so understanding. I know you said most men don’t notice this sort of thing, but we can’t rely on that.”

Inwardly, Margaery sighed. It was a shame that reality had to intrude into the small sanctuary the two of them had made, but Sansa was right. There would be complications, especially… “No, we can’t. I suspect I don’t need to tell you this, but Littlefinger has more than a friendly interest in you.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sansa agreed. “He would not take news of this well, and a man who runs a brothel may not be entirely blind about such matters.”

“Just how worried should we be?”

Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He’s a dangerous man, Margaery. He killed my Aunt Lysa, and a lot of other people. I can’t send him away or arrest him without losing the knights of the Vale, but if he thought you stood in the way of his desires… I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you because of us.”

A sudden chill gripped Margaery. It wasn’t fear of Littlefinger; if there was danger, she would face it. No, it was the fear that after everything they had shared tonight, Sansa might still pull away from her. Instinctively, she reached out, drawing her new lover into her embrace. “I don’t want to lose you, Sansa. Not when we’ve only just found each other.”

Rather than answer immediately, Sansa’s arms pulled tight around her, and when she finally spoke again, there was a hitch in her voice. “You won’t. I’m not giving up on this either. But we have to be very careful. We need to find a way to get rid of Littlefinger without losing his army.”

“We will.”

Margaery ran her hands along Sansa’s back. There were more scars there, more reminders of how much the world had already hurt her. _No more._ _No matter what, I won’t let anything like that happen again._ But vows were easy to make and difficult to keep, and upholding this one would take sacrifices. Reluctantly, Margaery eased Sansa out of her arms. “It may take time though, and until then, we have to be discrete. You should go back to your chambers.”

Sansa smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately, you’re right. Our secret won’t last long if the castle finds me in your bed come morning.”

“No, it won’t.”

Sansa begun to rise, but before she left that bed, she leaned in to give Margaery a final kiss. They both knew they should make this one last, pouring into it all their affection, and all their regret that they couldn’t spend the rest of such a special night in one another’s arms. It was unfortunate, but if they were smart, the separation might only be temporary, while if they were foolish… No, Margaery wouldn’t think that way. Somehow or other, they _would_ get through this.


	6. Chapter 6

“Has there been news from Dragonstone?” Lyanna Mormont asked, her round face as stony as usual. “It has been some time since the raven informing us of the king’s arrival.”

“There has not,” Sansa replied. “I’m afraid we shall have to be patient and trust that he’ll be able to strike a favorable bargain with Queen Daenerys.”

Though she was trying to project confidence to the lords and councilors sitting in the hall, Sansa had doubts of her own. Jon had become a formidable warrior, but she was less certain of his skills as a diplomat, and this dragon queen was obviously a dangerous woman.

Nor was Jon’s mission the only thing putting Sansa on edge. The three days since making love with Margaery had been difficult ones for her. It was hard to focus on wheat stockpiles and armor manufacture when all she wanted was to be back in Margaery’s arms. Instead, she’d had to settle for stolen glances in the halls, and a few conversations with far too many other people in the room. Their time alone had to be rationed, lest it draw suspicion too soon.

“We all pray that it will be so,” Lord Manderly said. “But in the meantime, there are troubles closer to home to attend to. There has been another raid on travelers between Winterfell and White Harbor. A grain merchant and two of his guards were killed and their shipment stolen.

Sansa’s brow furrowed. “Do we have any idea who’s behind these attacks?” White Harbor was the north’s key port; they could not allow those lines of transit to be compromised.

“My sources point to survivors of the Bolton army who’ve turned to banditry,” Littlefinger volunteered. “Although I have no details on their whereabouts as of yet.” His presence only added to Sansa’s anxiety, especially since Margaery was sitting only a few benches away from him. It was hard to shake the feeling that, somehow, he knew their secret.

“We’ll increase patrols along the roads,” Sansa said, trying to push aside her fears. “At least until the dead come south, we have plenty of good soldiers with little to do but wait. And put out word that we’re offering a reward of 5 gold dragons for any information on these bandits’ location; someone will give them up.”

Lord Manderly agreed, even as the door to the hall opened to admit Maester Wolken. The older man was carrying a small, rolled-up scroll, which he handed to Sansa. “A raven, my lady.”

“From Dragonstone?” Lord Manderly asked, even as Sansa was unwrapping it.

“No,” she said a moment later. “Highgarden, and if there is no other pressing business, I need to discuss its contents with Lady Margaery in private.”

The rest of the room quickly voiced their assent, filling out one by one. As Littlefinger passed, however, he said, “Perhaps we could speak of the matter later, my lady.”

Sansa gave him a tiny nod of approval. Littlefinger wanted to think that, after the Battle of the Bastards, he had regained her favor, and for the time being, she was willing to let him. In truth, she had resolved never to trust him again long before Margaery came back into her life, and now she had reason not to tolerate him for any longer than she had to.

Once the room had emptied, Margaery left her seat on the bench and came to sit at the high table beside Sansa. Neither of them spoke and neither of them needed to. Barely a moment passed before they leaned in as one, sharing a heated, hungry kiss.

After three lonely days, neither of them was willing to break it off until they were both panting. Even then, Sansa reached out, cupping Margaery’s cheek. Just the feel of her lover’s skin was a reminder that what had happened between them had been real, and she wasn’t willing to give it up.

She was still trying to find her words when Margaery said, “I’ve been wanting that so badly.”

“I have too,” Sansa confessed. “At night, I could barely sleep, thinking about you. The things you showed me…” What she was too shy to add was that by the second night, desire had gotten the best of her. Alone in her chambers, she had tried a few of those things on herself, but though the experience had been more enjoyable than her earlier, fumbling attempts at self-pleasure, it hadn’t been what she’d wanted either.

“Well, when we have the chance, I can show you a few more of them,” Margaery said, her voice rich with promises.

Even without knowing exactly what Margaery had in mind, the words made Sansa’s pulse quicken, at the same time as she regretted the necessary delay. “I’ll have to see about arranging that, but first I do need to discuss this message with you.”

Margaery laughed. “I wasn’t sure you hadn’t made up it coming from Highgarden in order to get me alone.”

“It is a lovely benefit, but no, it truly was from your grandmother. After she believed that you’d been killed, she allied House Tyrell with Daenerys in order to get her revenge on Cersei.”

“And now that she knows I’m alive?”

“She advises you to stay here in the north. Evidently, the Greyjoys have joined our enemies and with the Iron Fleet patrolling the sea lanes, it wouldn’t be safe for you to try to return to Highgarden.”

“What a dreadful hardship,” Margaery teased, a playful grin on her face. “It seems I shall have to endure more time here in this frigid northern winter. If only there was someone to help keep me warm.”

Sansa could feel her face flushing, and not just with embarrassment. Whatever relief their kiss had brought had been short lived; indeed, it had inflamed as much as soothed her. All she wanted to do now was strip off Margaery’s dress, lay her down on the table and… _No. That way leads to madness._ Patience was what Sansa needed just then, not fantasies, no matter how delightful.

“I told you I’ll see what I can do,” she said, not bothering to hide her regret, but not dwelling on it either. “In the meantime, I’ve been thinking about who else we can trust to help us.”

It saddened Sansa to see Margaery’s playful smile replaced with a more serious look, even if it was necessary. “Who have you decided on?”

“Jon, when and if he returns. I’m not sure he’d exactly understand, but he’d stand with me all the same. Brienne can be relied on as well, along with her squire, Podrick.”

“Brienne of Tarth?” Margaery’s brows furrowed slightly. “I’ve seen her around the castle, but I never heard how she came to be in your service.”

“She swore an oath to my mother to protect me. It was she and Podrick who saved me from Ramsay’s men when I escaped Winterfell with Theon.” The memory of that day was enough to make Sansa shiver. Freezing from the river crossing, cornered by Ramsay’s hunters, her last hope had been dying when Brienne had found her. She would never forget how vulnerable she had been, nor the woman who’d rescued her.

“I count us fortunate to have her on our side, then. She was in Renly’s Kingsguard once, and there is no one more loyal.”

“No, there is not. I would like to tell her soon, actually. As my bodyguard, she’s more likely than most to realize the truth if I don’t, and it’s better she gets it from me.”

“Sensible,” Margaery agreed. “Is there anyone else?”

“I’m not sure. The other northern lords would never support Littlefinger against me, but they all have retainers and men-at-arms, any of whom could be bought. As for Bran…”

Sansa hesitated before continuing. She had barely spoken to her brother since their conversation in the Godswood on the day he had returned. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he is now.” _But I will have to find out, no matter how much the answers may sadden me._

“He’s your brother,” Margaery said, “So I’m sure you’ll know best about that.   And I’ve been thinking as well. What we’re trying to find is a way to separate Littlefinger from his support in the Vale. Your aunt Lysa was the Lady of the Vale, and you told me that he murdered her. Do you have any proof of that?”

Sansa sighed as she was forced to recall another of her mistakes. “I’m afraid not. After she died, I helped Littlefinger persuade the lords of the Vale that it had been suicide. If I hadn’t, they might have killed him, and I thought that his feelings for me would ensure he kept me safe.” The memory tasted like ash in her mouth. Safety was all she had dared hope for after the nightmare of King’s Landing, but instead, Littlefinger had delivered her into an even worse hell. “I was a fool.”

Margaery put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. It seemed the wisest move at the time. But it does mean that if you change your story now, you won’t be believed.”

“No. So we’ll need something more.”

“I’ll see if I can be of any help discovering it. After all, I can’t imagine that’s the only secret Littlefinger is hiding. In the meantime, I’ll tell everyone how distraught I am that I can’t return home yet, and that you were consoling me. That should allay any suspicions about why we’ve been in here so long.”

“Very clever,” Sansa said, a smile returning to her face. The great game might be deadly, but it was far better to play it with a partner like Margaery than alone. “Do you suppose we can afford a minute more before you go?”

“I would imagine so.”

By way of reply, Sansa reached out, taking’s Margaery head in her hands. The taste of her lover’s lips was addictive, and Sansa had to have it once more before returning to duty and deceit. They drew out the kiss, caressing each other’s faces even as their tongues brushed together.

Afterwards they lingered in a last embrace Sansa never would’ve left if she had the choice. But she had to, and she did. As much she might have regretted it, the warmth of Margaery’s arms, and the scent of her skin gave her strength. _This_ was worth any wait, and she could be patient.

***

“You sent for me, my lady?”

“I did.” Sansa watched Brienne closely as the warrior entered her study. In her disregard for what a highborn lady was supposed to be, she reminded Sansa of her long-gone sister, but where Arya had been exuberant and brash, Brienne often seemed tense and uncomfortable, at least away from a battle.

Instead of taking a seat, Brienne stood before her, her arms behind her back. “What do you need?”

“Close the door, please. This is a delicate matter.” Once Brienne had done so, Sansa didn’t hesitate to speak; not after all the time she’d spent planning out this conversation in her mind. “Brienne, what do you think of Lady Margaery?”

Unlike Sansa, Brienne needed a moment to consider her words. “When I was in King Renly’s service, she was never cruel to me, not even after I bested her brother in a tourney. When we met again in King’s Landing, she was very considerate as well. I am not sure how much she truly believed in our king, but she has a kind heart.”

“That she does,” Sansa agreed, trying to avoid showing too broad a smile. “And as for her marriage, that was a matter of politics, not love. For both of them.” When Brienne didn’t disagree, Sansa continued, “Tell me, Brienne. Do you know what they said about Renly in that regard? About his preferences when it came to love?”

Brienne shifted uncomfortably on the balls of her feet, and Sansa regretted making her awkwardness worse than usual. “My lady, he is dead. Why are you asking me about this?”

“They say that he liked men, do they not? That he and Sir Loras were lovers.” A younger, sillier Sansa would scarcely have believed that about the dashing Loras, but at court she’d heard the rumors, and Margaery had confirmed them in one of their talks here at Winterfell.

“They did say that,” Brienne conceded.

“And did that bother you?”

“No, my lady. Renly was a good man, gracious and generous. He would have made a great king. That was what mattered to me, not who he took to bed.”

Though she showed no sign of it, inwardly Sansa let out a sigh of relief. She had suspected this would be her answer, but it was good to know for certain. “I’m glad to hear that, because there’s something I have to tell you. Something that must be kept in confidence.”

“Of course. I will always keep your secrets.”

“I know you will.” Sansa rose from her chair. She wanted to look Brienne straight in the eyes for this. “Brienne, Lady Margaery and I are like King Renly and Sir Loras.” She hadn’t thought of any better way to put it than that. There were no proper words for this truth, at least not that she had learned.

“Oh.” Brienne’s eyes widened, but it was with surprise more than disapproval if Sansa read her right. “I did not realize, my lady.”

“That’s because we’ve been careful. We have to be. You’re the first person we’ve told of this.”

“Then I’m honored by your trust.”

“You’ve earned it.” Sansa circled the desk so that she could put a hand on Brienne’s arm. “And that’s why I’m going to rely on you in the days ahead. Tell no one of this for now, and if anyone asks, deflect suspicion as best you can. Guard Lady Margaery if she requires it, and trust her if she relays messages from me. Above all, be wary of Lord Baelish, especially around her. He must not know.”

“I’m always wary of Lord Baelish, my lady.”

That made Sansa smile. Brienne might not have been a player of the game, but she had good sense. “A wise decision.”

Before she could expand on that, they were interrupted by a knock at the door. “M’lady,” came a voice, “There’s someone to see you.”

Brienne looked over to her, and Sansa nodded. The warrior opened the door and a pair of guards, one with a thick face and beard, the other lean and pale, walked in. Both looked more uneasy than might have been expected just from addressing a noble lady.

“Who is it?” Sansa asked.

“Well, m’lady,” the thicker one began, “We’re not entirely certain. We might not have bothered your ladyship with it at all, except we heard about when Lady Margaery came and you weren’t told, so we thought that maybe we should…”

“I presume at some point you plan on informing Lady Sansa who is trying to see her,” Brienne said dryly.

“She said she was your sister,” the thinner guard blurted out. “But she wasn’t making much sense, talking on about someone named Ser Rodrick, and Maester Luwin, and other such nonsense.”

“It was probably bullshit,” the other guard interjected. “And anyway, she ran off once she got inside the castle.”

“We only took our eyes off her for a moment,” the first guard added. “But don’t worry. We’ll find her, no problem.”

Sansa’s mind raced. Brienne had told her that she’d seen Arya in the company of the Hound, of all people, and that she’d been well enough, but that had been a long time ago. It was hard to believe that she too had really returned to Winterfell, but those names… In her heart, Sansa knew it was her sister.

“You won’t have to,” she told the guards. “I know where she is.”


	7. Chapter 7

Rumors of Arya Stark’s return had spread swiftly through the castle, and as soon as they reached her, Margaery had gone in search of Sansa. If it proved to be an imposter, or if their reunion went as poorly as it had with Bran, her lover would be crushed, and Margaery didn’t know how much more heartbreak her poor Sansa could take.

The least Margaery could do was be there to lend her support, but once the trail led her to the crypts beneath Winterfell, she had stopped short. This wasn’t her place. Even more than most of the castle, this was of the north, where Starks had been laid to rest since the days of the Kings of Winter. Better to wait outside and do what she could afterwards.

She wasn’t along in her vigil. Brienne was already standing watch outside the crypts, and as soon as she saw that she had company, she gave Margaery an awkward nod.

“Lady Margaery.”

“Hello, Brienne.” She remembered that Brienne disliked being called ‘lady,’ in spite of her noble birth. “I was told that Lady Sansa came this way. I see that was true.”

“It is. She commanded me to wait here while she spoke with her sister.”

From Brienne’s tone, Margaery could tell she would rather have been by Sansa’s side in case this was some sort of trick, but she was too dutiful to disobey. “Then it’s really Arya?”

“Lady Sansa believed that it was. I was with her when word arrived. She was...” Brienne hesitated. “She was speaking to me about you, my lady. About her feelings for you.”

“And does that bother you? You seem uncomfortable.”

“I’m only surprised, my lady.” Once more, Brienne paused, considering her words carefully. “Lady Sansa has been through a great deal. She deserves to be happy, and if you do that for her, then I wish both of you the best.”

“Well, I shall do what I can.”

Before Brienne could say more, two figures emerged from the crypts. The first was Sansa, who Margaery was relieved to see was smiling. Beside her was a girl in dark clothes, much shorter than Sansa. Indeed, the two sisters looked different in almost every way. This girl’s hair was brown, not red, and while her round face was pretty, it was in the way of a girl, not a woman like Sansa.

And yet in spite of her youthful appearance, there was something unsettling about Arya Stark.   Even at a glance, it was clear she was dangerous. There was a confidence in the way she moved that reminded Margaery more of Jamie Lannister or Oberyn Martell than an exhausted child returned home after a long journey.

“Arya,” Sansa said, “May I present Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, as well as Brienne of Tarth, who I’m told you’ve already met.”

“I did.” Arya’s voice contained none of the formality of her highborn origins. “She was fighting the Hound.  And winning.”

“I was only trying to protect you, my lady,” Brienne said defensively. “Although looking back I’m not sure if you truly needed my help.”

“You meant well. Don’t worry about it.” Arya turned to Margaery, eyeing her up and down. “I heard you were married to Joffery.”

There was something accusatory in her tone. “Very briefly,” Margaery told her. “He was murdered at our wedding feast.”

“I heard about that too. I was sorry I didn’t get to do it myself.”

Margaery tried hard not to swallow her tongue. Sansa had told her once that Arya was plain spoken, but clearly that term didn’t do her justice. _Not that I don’t understand her feelings._ The manner of Joffery’s death might have been shocking, but he had been a cruel boy. Margaery knew what he’d done to Sansa, and there’d been rumors at court of an incident between the prince and Arya on the road south from Winterfell.

While Margaery was sorting through the past, Sansa spoke up in her defense. “Margaery was no admirer of Joffery’s. Her family arranged the match, just like Father and King Robert did with me.”

“You did want to marry Joffery,” Arya pointed out swiftly, before seeming to soften. “But I know that you changed your mind about him.”

Margaery at last found her voice. “Arya, Cersei murdered my brother and my father, and she nearly murdered me as well. I have as much reason to despise the Lannisters as anyone.”

“You can trust Margaery,” Sansa added. “Whatever her family’s allegiances, she was a good friend to me when I was a prisoner in King’s Landing.”

Arya shrugged. “If you say so. Now come on. I want to see Bran.”

***

As their small group walked toward the Godswood, Sansa couldn’t entirely release the tension coiled in her belly. She wasn’t surprised that Arya was had changed –they all had, they’d all needed to –but there was something positively icy about her sister now. It had seemed to thaw when they were speaking of Father in the crypts, but Arya’s suspicion of Margaery had dropped the temperature once more.

 _And are you so different?_ Sansa chided herself. She’d fed a man to his own dogs, after all, and smiled as she listened to him die. _Not just any man. Ramsay._ It wasn’t that she had any regrets on that score, but she also knew what pain and necessity had turned her into. _At least until Margaery helped you to feel more than just anger and suspicion._

Which was why she had to give Arya time to find herself again at Winterfell, while making sure that her sister and her lover didn’t fight in the meantime. It might not be easy. Margaery was precisely the kind of lady Sansa had wanted to be, whereas Arya had always disdained those women.

Perhaps Margaery felt her tension, because as they entered the Godswood, she snuck Sansa a little smile. Sansa returned the gesture, only wishing she could do more. _Some day_ , she promised herself. _Some day soon we won’t have to sneak around like this._

Bran was waiting for them, sitting beneath the Weirwood tree in his chair as he so often had since his return. As they approached, he looked up, and once they were in front of him, he said to Arya, “You came home.”

His voice was flat, but that didn’t stop Arya from hugging him, and when he embraced her back, Sansa’s gloom lifted a bit. Maybe there was still something of her brother inside the Three-Eyed Raven, whoever or whatever that was.

“I saw you at the crossroads,” Bran said when the hug ended.

A look of surprise that reminded Sansa of her own initial reaction to reuniting with Bran crossed Arya’s face. “You saw me?”

“I see quite a lot now,” Bran said.

“Bran has visions,” Sansa added, wishing she understood more than that.

“I thought you might go to King’s Landing,” Bran continued as if there was nothing else to explain.

“So did I,” Arya agreed, and Sansa only became more confused.

“Why would you go back there?” she asked.

“Cersei’s on her list of names,” Bran offered by half-sensible way of explanation. Sansa understood, but Margaery clearly didn’t, because she spoke for the first time since the crypts.

“What list is that?”

“The list of people I’m planning to kill,” Arya said, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to have a list of.

“Who else is on your list?” Sansa asked, torn between curiosity and trepidation about the answer.

Arya shrugged. “Most of them are dead already.”

There was a sudden silence, all of them seeming equally ill at ease. Sansa realized that if she’d had a list of her own, the same would be true of it. Ramsay and Joffery were both dead. Walder Frey was too, if the reports they’d had from the Twins were true, along with his whole family, poisoned at a feast. Cersei would’ve been one of the last names she would’ve come up with as well.

The stillness was broken by Bran reaching beneath his cloak and producing a long, sheathed dagger. A bit of the blade was visible, though, and Sansa could see both Brienne and Arya react with surprise to it.

“That’s Valyrian steel,” Brienne said, almost reverently. “Where did you find it?”

“Littlefinger gave it to me.”

Arya’s eyes widened, and Sansa wondered if she’d had experience with Lord Baelish beyond their few brief interactions at court when Father was still alive. “Littlefinger? He’s here?”

Sansa’s reply was cautious. “He’s declared for House Stark.” It was clear Arya wasn’t entirely pleased with that, so she added, “It doesn’t mean I trust him, but he’s useful for now.”

“Why would he give that dagger to Bran?” Brienne asked.

“He thought I’d want it,” Bran said. “It was meant to kill me.”

It was eerie how little that memory seemed to bother her brother, but Sansa couldn’t focus on that now. “The cutthroat who tried to kill you after your fall,” she explained for the benefit of Margaery and Brienne. “That was his weapon?”

“It was,” Bran agreed. “Someone very wealthy must have wanted me dead.”

Sansa shook her head. “Littlefinger isn’t a generous man. He wouldn’t give you anything unless he thought he was getting something back.”

Her mind raced as she tried to puzzle out what it might be. Did he plan for the dagger to lead back to a person he wanted out of the way? Was Littlefinger trying to curry favor with someone he thought might be useful to challenge Jon’s claim? He would be sorely disappointed if that was the case; the more time Sansa spent in Bran’s company, the more she understood why he could never be Lord of Winterfell.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bran said.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Sansa asked.

“I don’t want it.” Arya looked surprised, and Bran added, “It’s wasted on a cripple. You’ll know what to do with it.” After a moment’s hesitation, Arya took the dagger, tucking it into her belt, and Bran said, “We should go inside. Margaery is cold.”

***

She and Margaery faced one other across the table, each waiting for the other to speak. “So,” Margaery finally began, “Now, I’ve met your family.”

“I hope it wasn’t too awful for you,” Sansa blurted out, unable to keep from betraying her own nervousness. “I know they’re a bit unusual.”

“That they are,” Margaery agreed. “You told me that Arya had never been a proper lady, but I don’t think I was quite prepared.”

“I wasn’t either,” Sansa admitted. “Even when we were children, Arya never wanted to do what was expected of her, but there’s something different about her now. Something dangerous.”

Margaery leaned across the table, taking Sansa’s hands in hers. “There’s something dangerous about you too, and that doesn’t mean I’m scared off.”

A small sigh of relief escaped Sansa. She didn’t think she could’ve born the alternative.   “That’s good to know. And I _was_ too hard on Arya when we were children. She saw right though all my silly dresses and my silly dreams and I resented her for it. It’s only, now…”

“I know.” Margaery squeezed down on Sansa’s hands, her touch reassuring no matter the circumstances. “The way she talked about killing Cersei; I think she really believes she could do it. And it may sound mad, but I don’t think she is. She couldn’t have survived for so long on her own otherwise.”

“No, she couldn’t have. But no matter how dangerous Arya’s become, she loves her family, Margaery. You should have seen the way she looked at Father’s statue. She’d never betray that.”

“I’m glad,” Margaery said cautiously, “But that might not do me much good. I’m not family, after all, and the Tyrells did appear to be allied with the Lannisters for a long time.”

In a rare change, it didn’t seem as if Margaery was being entirely honest with her. “Appeared to be? What don’t I know? This is important.”

“I know it is.” Margaery let go of Sansa’s hands and rose, walking over to a window. She stood in front of it for a moment, just watching the snow fall before she spoke again. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What doesn’t?”

Margaery took a breath. “Sansa, after Joffery died, everyone blamed you and Tyrion for his murder, but that wasn’t right, was it?”

“No,” Sansa said blankly. Her thoughts were flying back to a conversation in the hold of a ship on the day of Joffery’s murder. She’d been so dazed from the death and her escape that she hadn’t realized what Littlefinger had been hinting at, but now, it all made perfect sense. _Make a new friendship “grow strong.”_ _Of course, what a stupid girl I was._ “It was you.”

Margaery turned from the window, smiling regretfully at Sansa. “I didn’t even know it was going to happen. But you’re close.”

If not Margaery then… of course. “Your grandmother. Lady Olenna was the one working with Littlefinger.”

Now it was Margaery’s turn to be shocked. “Littlefinger was involved? My grandmother never told me she had a partner. Why would he have risked such a thing?”

“To make an alliance with your house. And to confuse the Lannisters.”

“And for that, he’d kill a king? You were right about how dangerous he is.”

That was true, but also not the point at the moment. “What about Olenna? What did she get out of the murder?”

“She saved me from marrying a monster.” Margaery paused. “And she got power as well. Joffery could be manipulated, but it wasn’t easy. Tommen would’ve been much simpler. You see, our alliance with House Lannister was never more than tactical.”

Sansa wasn’t sure of the effect this news would have on Arya. It hardly made House Tyrell appear more trustworthy, but it did demonstrate how deep the fractures went between the Lion and the Rose.

“That makes sense,” she told Margaery. “And I’ll need to figure out the best way to use this information. In the meantime, don’t worry; this is one secret that can’t hurt us anymore. Cersei already wants you and your grandmother dead.”

“Well in that respect, we’re in good company.”

Sansa rose from her chair and crossed the room, taking Margaery into her arms. Their kiss was sweet, and as it went on, she ran a hand over her lover’s cheek, savoring its softness. Margaery might not have been family, but she was precious to Sansa and in time, she hoped that she could get Arya to see that.


	8. Chapter 8

Unease churned in Sansa’s gut as she walked out of the great hall. A little of that was due to Arya’s presence by her side. It was unbelievable that anyone so small could hold their own against Brienne, but Arya had done so when the two of them sparred in the courtyard days earlier. Sansa had no idea how her sister had become so dangerous, and she was scarred she wouldn’t like the answer.

More than Arya, though, it was the meeting that had just concluded that had Sansa unsettled. The assembled lords were increasingly restless, and today, their talk had bordered on treasonous. Both Glover and Royce had suggested that perhaps she should have been named Queen in the North, and none of the others had raised any objections.

“I warned Jon this would happen,” she told Arya. “That he couldn’t leave the north and expect it to sit there and wait for him like Ghost.”

Arya’s reply was curt, which Sansa had come to realize was her default tone with everyone. In the years since they’d last seen one another, Sansa had studied how to bandy words with Cersei, and Littlefinger, and Margaery; clearly Arya had learned different lessons from other teachers. “He didn’t. He trusted you to hold it for him.”

“Well, he’s not making it easy,” Sansa said, unable to hide her irritation with her brother. “The northern lords are proud and they don’t like feeling as if he’s abandoned them for this dragon queen.”

By then, they’d arrived at her chambers. Fresh dispatches had been left on one of the tables, and when Sansa leafed through them, she found a variety of complaints from across the north. Inwardly, she sighed. The day seemed set on supplying her with a never-ending stream of problems to worry about.

Arya wasn’t interested in papers. “These are mother and father’s chambers.”

“And?” Sansa asked. It was true that it had been strange staying there at first, but by now, she took it for granted.

“Nothing,” Arya said, but there was a lack of sincerity to the reply that bothered Sansa.

“Don’t do that,” she protested, and when Arya gave her a quizzical look, Sansa added. “Say what you mean.”

A tiny smile appeared on Arya’s face. It reminded Sansa of the face she used to make when she was up to no good as a girl, but there was something more menacing about the expression now. “You always wanted nice things like this. They made you feel better than everyone else.”

Sansa put aside the papers, feeling her own ire rise in response. It was too easy for her to fall into her old squabbles with Arya, but now the stakes were much higher. For all their sakes, she had to try to clear the air. “Are you angry with me?”

Arya’s eyes narrowed. “They were insulting Jon and you just sat there and listened.”

The charge made Sansa’s spine stiffen. _Why does she have to be so difficult?_ “I listened to their complaints, which is my responsibility as Lady of Winterfell.”

“Their opinions are important to you?” Ostensibly it was a question, but it felt more like an accusation.

 _Not just difficult. Deliberately obtuse._ “Glover has five hundred men,” Sansa pointed out. “Royce has two thousand. Offend them and Jon loses his army.”

There was something disturbing about the off-handed way Arya said, “Not if they lose their heads first.”

Sansa took a step toward Arya. If her sister insisted on acting like a stupid child, then Sansa would instruct her like one. “Winterfell didn’t just fall into our hands. We took it back. The Glovers, and the Royces. The Mormonts and the Hornwoods. The Wildings and the knights of the Vale. All of us, working together, is what beat the Boltons. Now, I’m sure cutting off heads is very satisfying, but it’s not the way to get people to support you.”

Rather than look chastened, Arya stayed just as smug as ever. “And if Jon doesn’t come back, you’ll need their support, so you can _work together_ to get what you really want.”

“How can you even think such a horrible thing?” Sansa snapped. Her patience was at an end. Arya might have thought she understood the dynamics at play; when they were children, it was true that Sansa had never gotten along with Jon. But after what they’d been through, reclaiming the north together, Jon was truly her brother, as he had never been before.

“How can I not?” Arya replied, sliding close enough that the two of them were nearly touching. “I came back to find you living in the lord’s chambers, sucking up to the nobles, and spending your time plotting with Joffery’s queen. What else can I think except that you want to rule here?”

“Margaery has nothing to do with any of this!” Sansa insisted, forgetting about the rest of the charges in her eagerness to defend her lover. She’d mostly been worried about Littlefinger finding out too much, but if Arya thought Margaery was a threat to Jon…

“Oh really? Then why do I see you two whispering together when you think no one’s watching?”

Sansa tried to control the flush of embarrassment that she feared was showing on her face. “She’s just a friend giving me consul, Arya. Maybe if you had any of your own, you’d understand.”

Arya gave her a derisive snort. “If you say so.”

“I do. And if there’s nothing else, I have a great deal of work to do.”

That little smirk returned to Arya’s face. “My lady,” she said coolly, before turning and walking away. As the door closed, Sansa felt a shiver run through her. Matters were dangerous enough without her sister turning against her, but she wasn’t sure she knew how to prove her sincerity, let alone Margaery’s.

***

As soon as Margaery walked into Sansa’s chambers, she knew something was wrong. Instead of the bright smile she’d gotten used to Sansa offering her whenever they met, there were only sorrowful eyes and tight lips to greet her.

“Sansa?” Margaery said cautiously, closing the door to Sansa’s chambers behind her. “I was told you needed to see me.”

A message sat on the writing table in front of Sansa and her fingers ran over the paper as if she wanted to remind herself of its contents. “I do.   There was a raven from Dragonstone just before sunset and… Margaery, I’m so sorry. Highgarden has fallen to the Lannisters.”

Margaery felt as if a knife had been plunged into her stomach. Highgarden had been her home. Its elegant drawing rooms and lush gardens were the scene of her childhood, where everything that she was had been made. And now the Lannisters, the same people who’d murdered her family, had taken it away. The only thing that could make it worse was if…

“What about my grandmother?” she asked, her voice cracking on the question.

“The message didn’t say. We can hope she escaped, but there’s no way to know right now.”

The tears came before Margaery could stop them. Her grandmother was the only family she had left, and the thought that the Lannisters had killed her too was more than she could stand. Her whole life, Margaery had been trained to keep up the façade of the sophisticated courtier, able to handle anything with grace and poise.

Now, though, artifice failed her completely. Sobs racked Margaery’s body, a grief she couldn’t manage any longer. Dimly she was aware of collapsing into a nearby chair, needing something to support her in place of legs that no longer worked. Tears clouded her vision, blotting out everything but the pain.

_It’s all gone. Everything my family built, everything we were; they’ve taken all of it._

And then she felt a pair of arms wrapping around her, and a warm body pressed up against hers. “Margaery,” she heard Sansa’s soft voice saying. “Oh, Margaery.”

She couldn’t find any words to reply. The thanks she tried to offer caught in her throat, replaced by nothing but more sobs. All she could do was keep crying as Sansa ran a hand though her hair, stroking it affectionately as she held her.

It took some time for the grief to work its way through Margaery, and only when her body had ceased trembling did Sansa pull back. After she let go, she bent down to place a kiss on Margaery’s forehead. The press of her lips was soothing, and Margaery felt herself begin to focus once more. Some part of her was ashamed to have gone to pieces like that, but the warmth she saw in Sansa’s eyes banished the feeling. With her lover, at least, Margaery didn’t have to pretend to be perfect.

“I know there’s nothing I can do to fix this,” Sansa said, her hand brushing across Margaery’s cheek. “But know that you have a home here with me at Winterfell, for as long as you need it.”

Margaery swallowed down the last of her sobs. “Thank you, Sansa. I just wish there was more I could do to repay your kindness.”

“Don’t.” Sansa leaned down and kissed her again, this time on the lips. It was long and soft, a balm that Margaery desperately needed, replacing her pain with pleasure and warmth, at least for a few seconds. When the kiss ended, Sansa said, “You’ve made me happier than I knew I could be anymore. You don’t have to repay anything.”

Margaery rose from the chair, but only so she could fall back into Sansa’s arms. She buried her face in the crook of her lover’s neck, nuzzling as close as she could. Sansa was all she had left, and Margaery needed her comfort more than was wise, more than she could remember needing anything or anyone.

Maybe Sansa could sense that, because as she held Margery, she whispered, “Stay with me tonight, Margaery.”

Margaery looked up at her lover with still-damp eyes. All she wanted was to say yes, but some small, cautious part of her mind was resisting. “Isn’t that too dangerous?”

“I think it will be all right.” Sansa ran a hand through Margaery’s hair, stroking it affectionately before continuing. “If anyone asks, we can tell them about Highgarden, and explain you wanted company. Ladies can share a bed without anyone getting suspicious, at least from time to time.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.” Sansa sighed, and Margaery could hear in that sound the old griefs she’d suffered. “When I was in King’s Landing, I received one terrible piece of news after another: about Winterfell, about Bran and Rickon, about Rob and my mother. And every time, I was left alone to deal with it. You shouldn’t have to do the same. Not tonight.”

Margaery wiped her eyes clean before kissing her lover once more. “Thank you, Sansa. There’s no place I’d rather be then with you.”

***

Even with them spending the night together, Sansa couldn’t ignore the papers she’d found waiting for her earlier, but Margaery hadn’t minded. Indeed, when Sansa had made enough progress that she could offer to leave the rest until morning, Margaery had told her to just finish instead. She’d seemed glad enough to sit by Sansa’s side, giving advice on the various requests and hearing stories about the lords making them.

It was understandable that she would want the distraction. Sansa could remember all too well the sickness she had felt at losing Winterfell to first the Greyjoys and then the Boltons. Better for Margaery to think about wheat supplies and disgruntled knights than Lannister soldiers burning her home.

By the time the pile was finished, the hour was late and Margaery’s mood had definitely improved. Still, Sansa was surprised when Margaery came up behind her as she rose from her chair. Her lover’s arms circled Sansa’s waist and her lips pressed against the back of her neck. “Shall we go to bed now?” she purred, her tone unexpectedly seductive.

Sansa wasn’t sure how to reply. Ever since their first night together, she had thought of its pleasures often. Making love with Margaery had been like nothing she’d ever experienced, and more than once, she’d lain awake in her bed, her body twisting with the longing for more.

And yet, it felt strange that Margaery should feel the same way now. Sansa hesitated before she said, “I suppose we should,” not wanting to seem too eager in the face of her lover’s grief.

It was a concern Margaery didn’t share. As they moved toward the bed, her fingers were already undoing the laces of Sansa’s dress. “Let’s get you out of this,” she murmured.

“Margaery, wait,” Sansa blurted out. “I know we haven’t had another chance until tonight, but if it isn’t the right time, we don’t have to do this.”

Margaery coaxed Sansa around with her hands, bringing them face to face. “I know we don’t. And you’re very thoughtful. But I want this. I want to remember that I still have something wonderful left.”

“You do,” Sansa agreed before leaning in to kiss her lover. She could still scarcely believe how soft Margaery’s lips were, and the thought of what they were going to do next only added fire to the kiss. Apart from her concern for Margaery, Sansa didn’t feel the same trepidation she had the last time. Unlike then, she knew that this could be, would be, amazing.

They stripped each other slowly but without hesitation and as their dresses and shifts fell to the floor, Sansa’s stomach fluttered. With desire at the sight of Margaery’s nearly naked body, but also with a sudden uncertainty. Margaery had been so good to her their first night together, when Sansa had been frightened and unsure. Now, she was hurting and it was up to Sansa to provide the comfort.

“What would you like me to do?” she asked, brushing back Margaery’s hair to kiss the line of her shoulder.

In response, Margaery tilted her head, allowing Sansa better access to her neck. “Just take me like you did last time.”

Sansa ran her lips along the proffered skin before asking, “Are you sure? You can teach me something else if you’d prefer.”

“No, really, last time was lovely, Sansa. Besides,” Margaery added with a little laugh, “Practice is very important with these things.”

Sansa smiled back at her. No one could lighten her heart like Margaery, no matter what else might be going on. “I always was diligent in my studies.”

“Wonderful. And afterward, I’d be happy to show you some of those new things I promised.”

Margaery ran a finger along Sansa’s collarbone, teasing the tops of her breasts. The touch sent a shiver through Sansa, and she stepped into Margaery’s embrace, thrilling at the feeling of her bare skin. Bending down, she kissed the edge of Margaery’s ear before whispering, “Consider me suitably encouraged.”


	9. Chapter 9

As Sansa began caressing her, Margaery noticed a change in her lover. Their first time together had been wonderful, but Sansa had been unsure for most of it, hesitating before each new step. Now, she seemed more comfortable, her touches more confident. The kisses she placed on Margaery’s lips were long and deep, and with each one, her fingertips would slid a little bit lower.

When Sansa finally reached her smalls, Margaery was quick to wriggle out of them. She was too ragged for patience, and fortunately Sansa didn’t seem to mind. With one hand, she took hold of Margaery’s thigh, while her lips dipped down to the curve of her breast.

The sharpness of her own gasp surprised Margaery. She had wanted to make love as much for comfort as for pleasure, but now that pleasure was being given, she found her hunger ran deep. It was a sweet relief when Sansa’s lips closed around an already-erect nipple, and Margaery’s back arched into the contact.

“Yes, Sansa,” she murmured, her hand threading through Sansa’s hair. She had always loved the way those long red strands felt, silky and smooth as they fell through her fingers.

“I’ve been dreaming of this,” Sansa whispered. “Every night, all I wanted was to be with you again.”

Her hand crept up Margaery’s thigh as she spoke, her fingers drawing patterns on the skin. There was something almost reverential about those touches. Margaery might have been a fugitive without a home or a family, but to Sansa, it was clear she was much more.

“I have too.” The admission came naturally to Margaery. She had more experience than Sansa, but that only let her know that this was more than a mere dalliance. Even if she could go anywhere she wanted, this was where she’d want to be.

“I’m glad.”   Sansa smiled as at last she reached the juncture of Margaery’s legs. Her fingertips slid through the wetness there, and Margaery shivered. “Do you know how incredible you feel?”

“Show me,” Margaery panted. Her head tipped back, and she breathed out a long sigh, giving herself over to the pleasure Sansa was offering.

This time, Sansa didn’t wait before going inside her. A pair of fingers stretched Margaery, not stopping until they were almost fully sheathed. The sudden, wonderful fullness made her mouth fall open, and in response, Sansa stilled. She leaned down, kissing Margaery softly on the lips. “Are you all right?”

Margaery craned her neck to plant a swift kiss of her own. “Oh yes.”

With that reassurance, Sansa began to thrust, more in control of the pace than last time. Sansa was adorable when she was uncertain, but there was something about her more assertive side that made Margaery quiver. With every flex of her lover’s wrist and every press of her fingers, she was melting away Margaery’s demons, replacing them with bliss.

Even if she was more confident, Sansa did still have some learning to do. After a little while, she paused, looking down with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?” Margaery asked.

“It’s nothing, only…” Her brow furrowed. “Last time, you were rubbing against my palm, so I was thinking I should move somehow.”

Margaery licked her lips. Her lover was right that she wanted some pressure on her clit, but she had a different idea for getting it. “Sansa, do you want to learn something new?”

She loved the way Sansa smiled at the question. “Absolutely.”

Margaery reached down and took hold of her lover’s wrist, changing its angle slightly. “There. Now, you can put your thumb on me.”

“I think I understand.”

It did require a brief exploration, but soon the pad of her thumb had parted Margaery’s folds and found the aching head of her clit. “There it is,” Margaery panted, her voice tight. It was hard to be the patient teacher when she wanted something this badly.

Sansa began again slowly, needing time to get used to performing the two actions at once.   The awkward slips of her fingers made Margaery twitch with her need, but once Sansa found the right rhythm, her patience was rewarded.

“Yes,” Margaery whispered. “That’s it, Sansa. That’s it.”

Warmth was spreading through Margaery, not just her body, but her heart as well. What she had with Sansa was real and wonderful, enough to lose herself in. Margaery rocked against Sansa’s hand, while her own gripped her lover’s back. She needed to be touching Sansa, craving the reassurance of her body as her peak approached.

Once Sansa sped up her thrusts, it was only a matter of time and though the final break was sudden, it was also expected. Her fingers pushed deep, and when they hit the right spot along her front wall, Margaery spasmed, a wild, all-consuming energy filling every part of her. Her eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure, the last thing she saw Sansa’s beautiful smile, beaming down at her.

***

Sansa watched with wonder as Margaery shook beneath her. The look of bliss on her face was the loveliest thing she could imagine, and the gasps and moans spilling from her mouth, the most alluring sounds. Her fingers kept moving slowly on and in Margaery, wanting to draw out a few more of them before they were done.

Still, such sharp ecstasy couldn’t last forever. With a final purr, Margaery stilled, and Sansa drew her arms tight around her lover. Margaery nuzzled against her breasts, and Sansa could practically feel the contentment in her long sigh. “It seems I’m getting better,” she teased.

“Mm hmm.” Margaery placed a soft kiss on the side of Sansa’s breast, and Sansa let out a gasp of her own. Last time, she had already been sated when she had pleased Margaery; now, she was realizing what a turn-on experiencing a lover’s climax could be.

Perhaps Margaery noticed, because when she looked up at Sansa, there was a renewed energy in her eyes. “So, I believe I made you a promise…”

Sansa brushed back a lock of Margaery’s hair. Her heart was beating faster at the mere implications, and her curiosity was intense. “So, what did you want to show me?”

A wicked smile appeared on Margaery’s face. “Well, I already know you enjoy my kisses. How would you like me to kiss you someplace a little more sensitive?”

Sansa’s eyes widened. Ramsay had demanded she do something similar for him, and though it hadn’t been as painful as many of his other games, she hadn’t enjoyed it at all. This wasn’t the same thing, though. Not only were the parts involved different, but there was a positive gleam in Margaery’s eyes at the prospect. Still, Sansa had to check. “Are you sure you’d want to do that?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Margaery brushed a finger over Sansa’s lips. “After all, you’re delicious in so many other ways.”

A shiver shot right to Sansa’s core. She hadn’t considered having someone do this for her, but Margaery’s enthusiasm was enough to persuade her. “Okay, then. Let’s try it.”

“I’d love to. And remember, you can always tell me to stop if anything isn’t right.”

“I know.” It wasn’t easy for Sansa to give her trust, but Margaery had proven she deserved it, again and again, to the point that Sansa scarcely felt nervous trying something so unusual. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just lay back. I promise you, this is really wonderful.”

Sansa did as she was told, but as Margaery trailed kisses down her body, she kept her hands on her lover’s back. Even if it was her turn to be pleasured, she still wanted to be touching Margaery.

_Be honest, you always want to be touching her._

Somehow, the kisses Margaery placed on her breasts felt even better than the last time. The touch of lips on soft skin and stiff nipples was just as delightful, but the pleasure was made even richer by imagining what might come next.

That anticipation kept her from being overly disappointed when Margaery abandoned her breasts. Sansa’s nipples ached in the cool air, but her sex quivered at just the thought Margery’s mouth. It felt so good everywhere else, after all…

Sansa’s eyes were fixed on her lover as she kissed lower, moving along the plane of her stomach. The sight should have been beautiful. The light in Margaery’s eyes, the smile that stayed in place even as she kissed Sansa, the way her delicate fingers stroked Sansa’s sides… it was all so wonderful. But then her lips found one of Sansa’s scars. She was gentle with the faded mark, but something about seeing it…

_The knife glides along her skin. Not deep enough to make her really bleed, but enough to make her scream._

Sansa stiffened and at once, Margaery stopped. “Sansa, did I do something wrong?”

The compassion in her voice drew Sansa back to reality. She was safe here, safe and cared for, and she had plenty of practice getting rid of unpleasant thoughts. “No, no. It’s just my scars. It made me remember.”

Margaery’s hand caressed her side lovingly. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to show you they don’t bother me.”

Sansa took a deep breath, letting the last of the past leave her. Margaery’s gesture had been thoughtful, and it was Sansa’s fault that she hadn’t appreciated it. “You’re so sweet, and I’m the one who should be sorry. I always make this so difficult.”

“You’re worth it.” Margaery bent down and kissed the flat of Sansa’s stomach. “You’re worth everything.”

“Thank you.” Sansa ran her hand through Margaery’s hair, caressing the soft strands. The touch made Margaery purr, and Sansa felt her mind move back toward more pleasant things. When Margaery looked up at her with questioning eyes, Sansa nodded. “Go on. I’m sure.”

When Margaery resumed her kisses, she paid no special attention to the scars and soon, Sansa wasn’t thinking about them either. Indeed, it was easy to forget everything but the feeling of those wonderful kisses, especially when they kept moving lower. Her abdominal muscles tightened, arching up in search of more. The anticipation was electric, especially when Margaery reached the top of her smalls.

Sansa gasped as Margaery’s tongue ran along the edge of the fabric. Her skin only seemed to get more sensitive the lower Margaery went, and Sansa couldn’t wait any longer to find out what would it would feel like when her lover finally reached her destination. She hooked her fingers beneath her smalls and tugged them down, hoping that Margaery would get the message.

Mercifully, she did. The next few kisses went to Sansa’s inner thighs, close enough to send a shiver of anticipation through her. Margaery’s breath was warm on her sex, and when her lover paused just short, a whimper formed in Sansa’s throat.

Beneath her, Margaery let out a pleased murmur. “Don’t worry. I’m just enjoying the moment.” Sansa couldn’t find any reply except to tighten her hold on Margaery’s hair. The tug wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but she hoped it would suffice to show her eagerness.

She didn’t stay so quiet once Margaery resumed. Sansa had thought nothing could feel better than her lover’s fingers, but her mouth somehow managed to best it. Margaery delved skillfully between her folds, and when she found her clit, Sansa felt as if she might float clear off the bed. The wet pressure was unlike anything she’d felt before, but immediately she wondered how she’d gone so long without it.

Sansa wasn’t sure what noise she made, but it must have been notable because Margaery looked up at her with amusement in her eyes. “Good?”

“Gods, yes.”

“Excellent.” Margaery’s head dipped back down and Sansa closed her eyes. She loved looking at Margaery, but right now, she just wanted to feel. Warm hands took hold of her thighs and an instant later, that marvelous tongue was back on her sex.

Margaery started off slowly, painting little circles across her clit, but even that pace was overwhelming. It felt as if Sansa’s whole being had concentrated between her legs at the same time that electricity was spreading through her body.

And then, somehow, it got even better. Sansa felt warmth envelop her clit as Margaery drew her between her lips and sucked. An incoherent noise slipped out of Sansa, and her hands clutched at the sheets, searching for something to anchor her. She didn’t have to look far. An instant later, there was the firm pressure of a hand on her stomach and Sansa opened her eyes just long enough to see Margaery bracing her.

They fell closed once more when Margaery began flicking her tongue back and forth across Sansa’s clit. The rhythm she set was smooth and easy, drawing out everything Sansa had seemingly without effort. Sansa pressed helplessly against her lover’s mouth, tensing as the pressure built within her.

She wasn’t sure how long it took before it overflowed. There was nothing real but those heated sensations, nothing but her and Margaery and this, the only things that mattered in all the world.

It was somewhere in that timeless place that Sansa hit her peak. It was as if she was on fire with the sheer pleasure of it, her muscles tensing even as some deeper part of her was able to truly relax. She let go of her tensions and fears, letting everything vanish into the pure bliss of her climax.

By the time it finally passed, Sansa was laying limp on the bed. At the end, she had been so sensitive that she’d nearly asked Margery to stop, but her lover had sensed it for herself. She’d let Sansa slip out from between her lips, and crawled up to join her at the head of her the bed, tangling their bodies together.

There was a delightful grin on her face, and Sansa couldn’t resist kissing it. She didn’t give a thought to where those lips had just been, and she didn’t care about the tart taste of herself that she got. The warmth of Margaery’s mouth and the happiness in her own heart were far more important.

Margaery’s arms wrapped around her, holding her in the kiss, and when it finally ended, Sansa shook her head in disbelief. “Wow. That was…”

Her voice trailed off as she realized she lacked the proper words and Margaery laughed. “I thought you’d like it.”

“Oh, yes. But then, I like everything you do to me.”

“And I like doing those things for you,” Margaery purred, but then her voice trailed off. One of her hands was stroking Sansa’s back and through that touch, Sansa could feel an unexpected hesitation.

“What is it?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, that’s not it.” Margaery ran a hand through Sansa’s hair, clearly mulling over her next words.

“Then what is it? You can tell me anything. “

“I hope so.” Margaery leaned in and gave her a single, soft kiss on the lips. “Because I love you, Sansa.”

Sansa blinked hard as Margaery’s words sunk in. They echoed a feeling that had been building within her ever since Margaery came back into her life, but she hadn’t had the courage to voice it. Some part of her had been afraid that her more experienced lover didn’t feel as strongly, had worried that saying the words might give up too much power. But Margaery had said it first, and that gave Sansa strength. “I love you too, Margery,” she whispered.

“I’m so glad.” At once, Sansa could see the relief in Margery’s eyes and she understood perfectly. She had faced moments when the world had cut her adrift, with nowhere to go and no one to trust. Now, it was Margaery’s turn to require shelter, and Sansa was glad that she could give her a place to stay and someone who genuinely loved her.

 _And she loves me_ , Sansa added, letting herself become accustomed to that reality. _Not for my name or my family, but for me._ It was more than she had thought she would ever have, and enough to keep her warm that night, whatever the dawn might bring.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to get this one out. A mixture of work, other stories, and writer's block distracted me, but now we're back with what I hope is an amusing chapter.

Margaery rolled over in bed, tugging the thick fur blankets up over her shoulders. The scent of sex lingered from the night before, making her smile. Sansa wasn’t her first student in such matters, but she was definitely her favorite. In spite of her lack of experience, she could make Margaery’s body hum with an ease no one before her had matched. Just the simplest brush of her fingers was thrilling, and even now, Margaery could feel the ghost of Sansa’s touches on her bare skin.

But this was about much more than sex. She loved Sansa. It was a feeling that had begun to build back in King’s Landing, attraction and sympathy leading first to friendship, and then to something deeper, even if Margaery hadn’t been able to speak of it at the time. And then Joffery had died, Sansa had vanished, and it seemed those feelings would become a sad casualty of tragedy and necessity. Yet Margaery had never forgotten them, and when her family had died, it was to Winterfell and Sansa that she had fled. To confound Cersei’s agents, yes, but also because she had never been able to let go of the hope that maybe, there could be another chance for the two of them.

And now Margaery knew that Sansa loved her too. She had endured more pain and horror than any person should have to, and it would’ve been understandable if she had lost any capacity for warmer feelings. But she hadn’t. Sansa had given Margaery her heart, wounded as it was, and that meant everything.

Margaery’s only regret was that Sansa wasn’t there to share the memories from the previous night, or perhaps make a few more. Her lover had an early conference with some of her lords that morning, but she’d insisted that Margaery at least should get to sleep in. It was an indulgence Margaery had rarely had of late, and she was enjoying the feel of curling up beneath the warm blankets on a cold northern morning.

Even better, it seemed she wouldn’t be alone much longer. Her head turned at the sound of a door opening in the adjacent room, and Margaery sat up in bed. Perhaps she’d slept later than she’d realized. “Sansa?” she called out. “Is your meeting over already? Not that I’m complaining.” There was no immediate reply and Margaery repeated, “Sansa? Is everything all right?”

But it wasn’t Sansa she was talking to. Margaery’s eyes widened as instead of her lover, the younger Stark sister walked into the bedroom. She grabbed frantically at the blankets, yanking them up over her naked body, but it was too late. Arya had already seen far too much, and Margaery could feel her face turning the same color as Sansa’s hair.

“Arya?” she blurted out. “What are you doing here?”

Arya couldn’t answer. She had fallen backwards into a carved wooden chair near the bed, laughing hysterically. It was a sight so strange that for a moment, Margaery forgot her own mortification, starring incredulously. Finally, Arya stopped laughing, but even then, her only words were, “Seven hells.”

While Arya was distracted by her own amusement, Margaery wrapped a sheet around herself, attempting to preserve what remained of her dignity. _Even if it’s not much._ “Arya, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything.” Arya’s lips pursed as she swallowed back another peel of laughter. “Gods, I never would’ve thought…” Before continuing, she wiped a tear from her eye. “But I suppose it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“What do you mean by that?” Margaery demanded, filling her voice with whatever shred of her old royal authority she could muster. “And what _are_ you doing in Sansa’s chambers, anyway?”

Arya didn’t sound particularly impressed. “Well, it was obvious you two were up to something, with all the whispers and glances, so I thought I’d see if there was some evidence of what it was in here. I just never thought it would be this.”

“So now you know the truth,” Margaery told her. “Sansa and I are lovers. Why does that entertain you so greatly?”

“Because Sansa was always such a proper little lady.”

“And I suppose this doesn’t seem very lady-like to you.” Arya’s only response was to smirk, and Margaery told her, “You might be surprised by how many ladies would disagree with you about that.”

“They might,” Arya agreed with uncharacteristic cheer.

Now that Margery had a better handle on the situation, she was actually relieved. Arya might be having a laugh at their expense, but she didn’t seem disgusted or angry and if this discovery had allayed some of her suspicions, it could turn out to be a good thing. “So this doesn’t bother you?” Margaery asked cautiously.

“Nah. As far as Sansa’s tastes go, you’re better than Joffery.”

Now it was Margaery’s turn to laugh. “That’s something, I suppose.”

“I suppose it is. Besides, sleeping with you makes her seem more like a regular person somehow.”

After speaking those odd words, Arya went quiet, starring at Margaery with hard eyes. Leering looks Margaery was used to, but this was far more unnerving. It felt as if Arya could see right through her, and though Margaery did her best to return the gaze, it wasn’t easy. There were people like Lord Varys that were hard to read, but Arya went beyond that. Something about her was blank in an unsettling way.

Without warning, Arya spoke again. “Do you really care about my sister, or is this just a game you’re playing with her?”

Somehow, Margaery knew that Arya would see through a lie, but fortunately, she didn’t need one. “It’s not. I love her, Arya.”

It didn’t show on her face, but Margaery could hear a twinge of approval in Arya’s voice. “I think you really mean that.”

“I do. And I’d never do anything to hurt her, or her family.”

Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say, because Arya’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And what if Sansa was the one trying to hurt her family?”

Margaery’s mind flashed back to what Sansa had explained to her about her siblings. Arya had always been closer to Jon than any of the rest of them and now some of the northern lords were pushing the idea of Sansa taking the throne in his place. Her suspicions made sense, even if they were groundless. “Sansa wouldn’t do that either. She’s a Stark, through and through.”

“But Jon’s not. Sansa never cared about him.”

“Maybe not when you were all children, but things are different now,” Margaery insisted. She hadn’t seen the two siblings interact herself, but it was what Sansa had told her and she believed it. They had found each other after Sansa’s escape from Winterfell and Jon’s stabbing, when they both believed they had no family left. Together, they had retaken the North, and in the process, forged a bond that would not be easily broken.

Arya wasn’t as easy to convince. “So you say,” she replied, her voice flat and noncommittal.

Margaery fought hard not to let her anxiety show. There had to be a way to bridge the gap between the Stark sisters, but it wasn’t proving easy to find. Stalling for time, she said, “If we’re going to keep discussing this, I should probably get dressed.”

“Go on, then,” Arya said, but she made no move to leave the room or even turn away.

“If you wouldn’t mind giving me a little privacy…”

Arya shrugged before rising from her chair and turning around. It was unlikely she’d been interested in another eyeful; more likely, she didn’t care either way. Margaery wasn’t usually bashful either, but with her lover’s sister, it felt strange to be so exposed.

The previous night’s clothes were scattered about the floor and Margaery gathered them up, redressing herself mechanically as her mind delved into the problem at hand. Arya may have been adept at detecting lies, but when it came to her sister and Jon, she was unwilling to trust. Nor would she believe any assurance Margaery could offer. _Not that I can wholly blame her. I may be telling the truth, but I’d lie for Sansa if I had to. I’d do anything for her._

And then, as Margaery fastened the last of the laces on her dress, it hit her. There was one person Arya might listen to, at least if they could get him to share what he knew.

“You done?” Arya asked, and when Margaery said “yes,” she turned back around. “You were telling me why my sister cares more about the bastard half-brother she never liked than being the Lady of Winterfell.”

“I was. But I realize that nothing I say is going to convince you, so let’s take a walk. There’s someone else we need to talk to.”

***

The rest of her lords had already left the room, but Littlefinger lingered across the table from Sansa, his eyes crawling over her. Once, Sansa had thought herself numb to his stares. She knew what Lord Baelish wanted, and though she had no intention of giving it to him, the hope that she might had given her power that she badly needed.

Not anymore. His arranging of her nightmare marriage to Ramsay had destroyed whatever faith Sansa might’ve had in Littlefinger’s aid, and her relationship with Margaery had taken away her patience for indulging the man’s pathetic fantasies. Unfortunately, she couldn’t let him know that quite yet. Instead, she folded her hands and asked, “Is there something I can do for you, Lord Baelish?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Lady Margaery.”

The sound of her lover’s name passing Littlefinger’s lips sent a shiver through Sansa but she kept the reaction off of her face. If there was one thing she could thank Joffery, Cersei, and the rest of the Lannisters for it was that they’d made her into a better liar than she’d ever dreamed possible. “What about her?”

“I know that you two are friends,” Littlefinger began.

“We are. She was very kind to me in King’s Landing, and I’m happy that I’ve been able to repay that kindness.”

“You’ve been doing more than that,” he said, and Sansa felt the fear creeping a little further down her spine. _Does he know?_ But if he did, he didn’t tip his hand. “You’ve enlisted her to serve as your advisor.”

“I take council from a number of people, including you,” she replied, as nonchalant she could be under the circumstances. “Lady Margaery has a keen understanding of southern politics.”

“She also has her own interests to look after. Highgarden has fallen to the Lannisters.”

Sansa nodded. “It has. What of it?”

“My sources tell me that even before this news arrived, your ‘friend’ had been speaking with some of the other lords about their support for an alliance with the dragon queen. How much more desperate might she become to win them over now that her home is in the hands of the enemy?”

_He doesn’t know._

It was true that Margaery had taken a few meetings with some of the lords of the Vale, but it had been at Sansa’s prompting, which Littlefinger would have realized if he knew the truth of their relationship. Instead, his attempt to drive a wedge between the two women only revealed his ignorance. Sansa kept the smile from her face as she asked, “And you think such an alliance wouldn’t be in our best interest?”

That tiny, irritating smirk appeared on Littlefinger’s lips, but for a change, Sansa enjoyed seeing it there. It was a reminder that although Lord Baelish was a step behind this time, he didn’t know it yet. “It might be, or it might not. But you will want to make that decision for yourself, not let yourself be led about by your friend, no matter how charming she might be.”

 _You have no idea how charming Margaery can be,_ Sansa thought. She noted also that Littlefinger expected her to make this decision, not Jon, but she let both things pass without comment.

“Never fear, I’ll keep a close eye on her,” Sansa replied. There was nothing she wanted more, albeit not in the way Littlefinger meant. After the bliss she’d enjoyed with Margaery, it had been hard to leave the bed that morning, and the sooner she could get out of this meeting and back to her chambers without arousing suspicion, the better.

“You shouldn’t put too much of your trust in any one person. Anyone can betray you.” That patronizing tone was in Littlefinger’s voice, the teacher imparting his wisdom to a dull pupil.

_And I used to be that, once._

Littlefinger had been right when he’d mocked the naïveté she’d shown in King’s Landing, but Sansa wasn’t that stupid girl anymore, blinded by a mixture of fear and a desperate hope of rescue. She had learned how not to trust, but unlike her would-be mentor, she’d also learned who she could. That was what separated them and why Sansa had faith that she and Margaery would best him in the end.


	11. Chapter 11

The chair he was confined to should have made Bran look small. Instead, its wooden frame seemed to merge with the Weirwood tree he sat beneath. He was connected to it in some ancient, primal way that made even the most ordinary words he spoke feel strange. “Hello, Arya. Lady Margaery.”

“Hello, Bran,” Margaery replied. She was apprehensive of relying on someone she understood so little about, but she had no choice. “I was hoping that you might be able to help us.”

“With what?” Bran asked. His voice was flat, giving no indication of what he was thinking, but at least it lacked the menace that Arya’s often carried.

“Sansa told me you can see things that happened in the past.”

Bran gave the slightest nod of his head. “I can. Was there something in particular you needed to know?”

This was the tricky part. Margaery wasn’t sure exactly what she needed Bran to tell Arya. She didn’t know what he could see, or what would help. But she had to try. Even now, she could feel Arya’s eyes boring into the back of her head. Arya didn’t trust Margaery and more importantly, she didn’t trust Sansa. If this feud between the two sisters went on, it could destroy them.

“Arya thinks that Sansa might betray Jon in order to become Queen in the North,” she said cautiously.

Bran turned his head slightly, looking toward Arya. “Is that true?”

“She never liked him,” Arya said. For once, she didn’t sound older than her years, just a girl annoyed with her big sister. “You remember.”

“I do.”

“Maybe not back then, but she cares about him now,” Margaery objected. “And Jon trusts Sansa. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left her to rule in his place when he left for Dragonstone. That’s why I came to you, Bran. Is there something that you can see that would prove what Sansa really feels?”

“Perhaps.” Bran’s eyes slid closed, and when they opened again, they were utterly blank, pale disks that displayed neither color nor emotion. Margaery swallowed hard, taking a step backwards. More than ever, she understood why Sansa had been so upset the day Bran had come back to Winterfell. _What is he doing right now? What has he become?_

Whatever Bran was doing, at least it didn’t take long. After an extended moment, he blinked again and when his eyes opened, they were back to normal. His voice, though, was still distant when he spoke. “Snow falls as the gates open. Sansa rides through them, too tired to care how everyone stares at her. It’s different when Jon sees her. She freezes as he walks down from the balcony. When they throw their arms around each other, there are tears in their eyes.”

Now it was Arya’s turn to be unsettled. A crinkle had formed across her brow, and she moved past Margaery to face Bran directly. “Are you sure about this?”

“It’s what happened. They really were happy to see each other.”

“Pretty good trick,” Arya said, regaining her composure. “But even if she was glad to see Jon, what if she’s changed her mind? Back then, there wasn’t a chance to be a queen.”

“She hasn’t,” Margaery insisted. She thought of everything Sansa had told her, everything she had seen for herself back in King’s Landing, and tried to shape it into a convincing argument.

“Arya, I don’t know what you went through these last few years, but I’m guessing it wasn’t pretty, so maybe you can imagine what it was like for Sansa. For years, she had no family, or anyone she could trust, and every day, the Lannisters would find new ways to hurt her. When we first met, I thought she was the saddest person I’d ever seen, and things only got worse after that. When she met Jon again, it didn’t matter if they hadn’t been close. They were Ned Stark’s children, and that was enough.”

Before she could say more, Bran’s distant voice cut in. “He hits Ramsay, again and again. Rickon is dead, and all Jon wants is to kill him. But then he sees Sansa. Ramsay is hers, so he stops and she smiles.”

It was a more disturbing image that the first one he had recounted, but Margaery didn’t have time to worry about that. Between her appeal and Bran’s story, something had gotten through to Arya. A tiny smile flashed across her face. “Okay, then.”

“So you’re willing to trust Sansa now?” Margaery asked, hopeful if not yet confident.

“I guess so.” Arya paused for a moment, seeming deep in thought, and then she looked back to Bran. “So, do you think you can see a few more things for me?”

***

There was a spring in Margaery’s step as she left the Godswood. Arya had wanted to be alone with her brother, but whatever further questions she had about his visions, Margaery’s purpose had already been accomplished. Arya seemed genuinely convinced both that Sansa wasn’t conspiring against Jon, and that Margaery wasn’t hiding anything more than her relationship with Sansa.

_And she seems to be taking that part pretty well too._

Margaery had always walked a fine line when it came to such things. At Highgarden, no one really concerned themselves with how close a highborn woman was to her ladies in waiting, or exactly what squires got up to together during their training. That indifference had served Margaery well, letting her have her intimate friends without scandal.

And yet, she’d had to be careful. Her brother Loras had not been so discrete, and his conduct had generated rumors that spread across half the realm, causing embarrassment for the Tyrells even before the High Sparrow’s crusade against “sinful” behavior. The man had been a hateful fanatic, but his attitudes were shared by too many people to ignore.

Here in the North, the situation was somewhat better than at King’s Landing. The Old Gods were less concerned with such matters than the Seven, but ladies still were expected to marry and produce children, not to fall in love with one another. Fortunately, Sansa was convinced that Jon wouldn’t push anything of the sort on her, and if Arya wasn’t troubled by their relationship, things might just work out.

A smile crossed Margaery’s lips as she finished climbing the stairs that led up onto the battlements. From here, she had a lovely view of the snow-covered fields around Winterfell, but more than then that, she could see the outlines of a future with Sansa. Of facing whatever the days brought together, and then getting to share a bed every night. Of all of the delicious things Margaery still had to teach her lover…

Lost in such pleasant daydreams, Margaery didn’t notice the man walking down the battlement until he was only a few paces away. At first glance, he was just another soldier, albeit a somewhat short and slight one, but there was something in his narrow face that made Margaery uneasy. His gaze wasn’t the usual one a man like him aimed at a pretty highborn lady, filled with desire that he was trying to conceal, but something far more predatory.

Without thinking, Margaery drew away from the man, and that caution might have saved her life. There was a flash of metal, and before she consciously realized what was happening, a slim blade was in the man’s hand, slashing out at her. Her pulling back meant that it struck her cloak rather than hitting her chest cleanly, but she still felt a sting as the steel cut through heavy wool.

Margaery was no warrior, but she had faced enough danger to realize that her only move was escape. Without hesitation, she turned and fled, racing down the battlement with the man close behind. As she ran, she called out for help, but there was no response. They were alone, no doubt by design.

Ahead of her, a staircase grew nearer, promising an escape to someplace where other people might be found, but before she could reach it, something sharp tore through her cloak and pierced her shoulder. Pain flared and Margaery screamed as she fell. Her gloved hands broke her fall, but by then, the assassin was almost on her, leaving Margaery no choice but to fight. Ignoring her hurt, she rolled over, kicking at the man’s legs as he approached. Her boot caught him squarely in the shin, and he staggered back, buying her enough time to grab the thrown dagger from the ground.

Margaery slashed at the assassin’s leg, but her stroke was clumsy and he danced back, avoiding it easily. He lunged forward with his own blade, and Margaery barely managed to dive out of the way. But the man had known his business. Even missing, his strike had left her trapped between him and the battlement, between unyielding stone and certain death.

“Wait!” she screamed, hoping that somehow, she could talk her way out of this, but the man paid her no mind. He raised his blade once more and all Margaery could do was hold up the dagger, knowing that she lacked the skill to block his next thrust.

And then there was a flash of motion, too quick for Margaery to track. A scream followed it, but although it was very sharp, it was also very brief.

***

Sansa starred down at the body laying on the battlement in front of her, her face pale. Blood stained the stone beneath the corpse, and though she had grown accustomed to such sights, this was different. This was Winterfell, where she had promised Margaery that she would be safe. And now, to have this happen… Anger surged within her. “What happened here?”

“He tried to kill Margaery,” Arya said coolly. “I killed him instead.” Her hands were folded behind her back, and she didn’t seem unsettled in the least by the fact that she’d just taken a life. _We really have become a good deal more alike._

“Where is Lady Margaery now?” Sansa asked, trying not to reveal her desperation for the answer. When her guards had burst in, telling her that someone had tried to kill Margaery, Sansa’s heart had frozen in her chest. All she’d wanted was to run to her lover, to see with her own eyes that Margaery was still alive. But she had her duty, and if Margaery was safe, than Sansa could make herself wait.

“With Maester Wolken,” Arya replied. “She had a few cuts for him to patch up.”

The thought of any harm coming to Margaery made Sansa sick, but at least “a few cuts” didn’t sound too bad. “Did you leave her alone? This assassin might not be the only one.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Arya assured her. “Brienne came running after the fight. She’s with Margaery now.”

That was good, but there was something strange in the way Arya had told Sansa she didn’t have to worry. Something almost… playful? _Does she know?_ Sansa needed to find out, and privately, so she turned to her guards. “Leave us.”

“Are you sure, m’lady?” a tall, stout soldier named Wilhem, asked. “As you said, there might be more assassins about.”

“I’ll be perfectly safe with my sister,” Sansa told them, and the guards withdrew down the stairs, leaving her alone on the battlement with Arya. _And this dead man._ She looked down, examining the corpse more closely. The short man had worn the badge of House Glover, but Sansa was fairly confident she had never seen him among their soldiers before. But then, there were so many soldiers around Winterfell, and it might well have been a disguise anyway. Assassins rarely wore their true colors when they struck.

“Do you know him?” Arya asked.

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

The soldiers were safely out of earshot by then, and so Sansa softened her voice and said, “Thank you, Arya. For saving Margaery.”

Arya gave her a small smile. “I know how important she is to you.”

Now there could be no doubt. “How did you know?”

“I found her naked in your bed this morning. It wasn’t hard to figure out the rest after that.”

 _Oh Gods._ At some point, her sister would’ve had to be told the truth, but to have her find out this way… Sansa was certain that she was blushing fiercely but she tried to cover her embarrassment with irritation. “And just what were you doing in my chambers in the first place?”

“I wanted to know what you were planning,” Arya declared, as if her intrusion was the most natural thing in the world. Sansa was ready to protest otherwise, but before she could, Arya continued. “Don’t worry. I trust you now.”

Sansa’s first impulse was to ask why, but there were more urgent mysteries to solve first. “And is that how you happened to interrupt this attack on Margaery? Were you still spying on us?”

“I wasn’t. Bran saw some things, and I guessed she was in danger.”

“Bran was right. But this man was just a hired sword. We have to know who sent him, and why they wanted Margaery dead.”

Sansa looked down at the dead man once more. Something about the scene kept drawing her attention, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. _Wait! A hired sword! That’s it._ Sansa picked him the blade that had tumbled out of the dead man’s grasp. Like him it was small, and thin as well. It wasn’t the kind of weapon a soldier would use, but it was familiar in its way. She turned to her sister, examining the sword Arya wore on her hip.

Arya realized what she was thinking. “It looks a lot like Needle.”

“Yes it does, and I think that was the point. If you hadn’t arrived when you did, Margaery would have been found dead, from a wound that looked like it was made by your sword. With the way we’ve been arguing, it would have been natural for me to blame you for her death.”

“And who would’ve wanted that.” Arya’s words were not a question, but a statement.  It was obvious she already had a suspect in mind.

And so did Sansa. The pieces were falling into place. Once more, she’d been blind, and this time it had almost cost her Margaery. But no more. Now, at last, it was time to finish this.


	12. Chapter 12

Margaery winced as Maester Wolken finished wrapping the bandage around her shoulder. The ointment he had applied to her cuts stung as well, but the physical pain bothered her less than the terror that refused to entirely release its grip. Even now, she could see that man looming above her, his blade poised to strike. She had been trapped, with no escape and no hope.

And then, before she knew what was happening, the assassin was tumbling to the ground with a blade through his chest. From behind his corpse, Arya had emerged, offering Margaery a hand up, along with a surprisingly friendly smile. But though she was no longer in danger, Margaery wasn’t at peace. This wasn’t her first time escaping death, but she was still far from being calm about the experience.

“There we go,” the maester declared, tying off the bandage. “You should avoid any strenuous use of that arm for the first week or so, and you’ll need to come back every two days for a fresh dressing, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage.”

“Thank you, Maester Wolken,” Margaery said with a weak smile. She rose from her chair, pulling her shift back over her shoulder. “I suppose it could have been far worse.”

Brienne’s shoulders slumped at that. She had arrived on the battlements a few minutes after the attack, escorting Margaery to Maester Wolken’s chambers while Arya stayed behind to await her sister. Since then, the warrior had been standing by Margaery’s side like a statue, watching the door as if she expected half the Lannister army to burst through it at any moment. “It could,” she agreed, sounding chagrined. “And I must apologize, my lady. I should have been there to defend you.”

Margaery started to say that there was nothing to apologize for, but she was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Standing in the doorway was Sansa, and at the sight of her, it was hard for Margaery not to throw herself into her lover’s embrace, Maester Wolken’s presence notwithstanding.

Sansa wasn’t as restrained. Without a word, she rushed across the room, wrapping her arms around Margaery. Although careful to avoid the injured shoulder, she held Margaery tight, breathing in her scent. Sansa was warm and solid, and her presence blotted out at least a little of Margaery’s lingering fear. This wasn’t the explosion of the Great Sept; there was someone she loved here to help her.

Sadly, the moment couldn’t last forever. “Is she going to be all right?” Sansa asked the maester once she had drawn back.

“Yes, my lady. The cut to her stomach scarcely broke the skin, and although the one to her shoulder was deeper, it will heal as well, given time.”

“That’s good to hear,” Sansa said, not hiding the relief in her voice, “And I appreciate your help, Maester. Now, if you would be so good as to give us a few moments, there are things that I need to discuss privately with Lady Margaery and Brienne.”

Maester Wolken nodded. “Of course. I’ll be just outside should you have further need of me.”

He left the room, and once the door had closed behind him, Sansa pulled Margaery close once more. This time, she didn’t stop at a hug, and in the heat of their kiss, Margaery could feel all the fear and all the relief that Sansa must have been holding in. Even when it ended, she stayed by Margaery’s side, interlacing their fingers. “I’m so sorry that this happened,” she said softly. “It’s all my fault.”

“No, it is mine,” Brienne told Sansa. “You charged me with protecting her, and instead I almost allowed her to be killed.”

“You couldn’t be with Margaery every minute of the day,” Sansa reassured her. “And I was the one who didn’t realize how much danger she was in.”

Margaery squeezed down on Sansa’s hand, trying to assess the situation rationally. “Do you know who was behind the attack?”

“Littlefinger,” Sansa replied, sounding certain of her answer. “This morning, he warned me to be careful of you, that you were intriguing to have some of the northern lords throw their support behind Daenerys. At the time, I thought such a clumsy attempt to divide us proved that he didn’t know about our relationship, but that’s what he wanted me to think. That way, after you died, I wouldn’t suspect him.”

Margaery laughed bitterly. So much for their secret; at this point, it seemed that half of Winterfell knew. “Very clever. Who did he think would take the blame?”

“Arya. The assassin’s blade was very much like hers, and with the way she and I have been fighting...”

“If I turned up dead, then you might believe she did it, especially since Arya suspected you and I of plotting together against Jon.” In spite of everything, Margaery smiled. “At least until this morning she did. Now, she has… a better idea of what’s going on between us.”

Sansa used her free hand to rub her forehead. “I’m sorry about that as well. She really shouldn’t have found out about us that way.”

“What way?” Brienne asked.

Margaery could see Sansa blushing and suspected she was doing the same. Clearly, Arya had told Sansa what she knew and how. “Arya… found me in Sansa’s bed.”

“I see,” Brienne said, sounding as uncomfortable as the rest of them. “But you did say that she trusts you now.”

“I believe so,” Margaery replied. “But Littlefinger couldn’t have known that. He thought that with a single stroke, he could remove both me and your sister, making you more dependant on his support.”

“He was wrong,” Sansa said. Ice was in her voice and Margaery could feel her grip tighten. “And now he’s going to die for his mistake.”

As much as Margaery wanted Littlefinger dead, the part of her that had been trained to think strategically hesitated. “Are you certain about this, Sansa? Without evidence of his guilt, we still have the problem of losing the support of the Vale.”

“I’m not sure we can worry about that anymore, my lady,” Brienne told her. “He tried to have you killed after all.”

A thin smile appeared on Sansa’s face. “It’s all right, Margaery. This time, we have all the proof we’ll need.”

***

The murmurs in the great hall grew as a pair of guards escorted Arya into the room. Everyone else who mattered was already there: the lords of the North and the Vale, along with many of their knights, lined the walls, while Brienne and Master Wolken stood behind Sansa. On one side of her at the high table sat Bran, and on the other, Margaery. Sansa had told her lover that she could rest a while longer, but Margaery had insisted she had to be here, and she was right. Sympathy could be a valuable tool, and a wounded noblewoman would generate a great deal.

Once Arya was at the center of the hall, the soldiers flanking her fell away, leaving her to face Sansa alone. There was a cocky smile on her face, an expression matched by the smirk Littlefinger wore. Though he knew the attempt to kill Margaery had failed, he clearly didn’t realize that the rest of his plan had as well. Indeed, the purpose of putting Arya under guard was to make him believe she was still the suspect he had wanted her to be.

_At least until it’s too late._

Sansa cleared her throat and the room fell silent, all eyes turning toward her. “We are here today because heinous crimes have been committed and justice demands that they be punished.” She turned to her right. “Lady Margaery, if you would elaborate.”

Margaery flashed that brilliant smile of hers. Although shaken by the attack, she was as lovely as ever, and her obvious discomfort when she moved her injured shoulder would ensure that every man in the room wanted to take her into his arms and comfort her. _Not to mention you._

“My lords,” Margaery said, “This afternoon, I was walking on the battlements when I was set upon by an assassin. The attack was without provocation or warning, and if rescue had not come, I surely would have been killed.”

Sansa waited for the sympathetic muttering to die down before she spoke again. “We are all sorry for your ordeal, but as terrible as that crime was, it is only one of many that we have to address today. In addition to the attempted murder of Lady Margaery, there are also charges of murder and treason to consider.” She paused for effect. “How do you answer these accusations… Lord Baelish?”

The speed with which the smile on Littlefinger’s face was replaced with a look of pure shock was definitely enjoyable. He stood pinned to the wall, speechless, until Arya finally said, “My sister asked you a question.”

“Lady Sansa, forgive me,” Littlefinger replied, his usual arrogance banished. “I’m a bit confused.”

Sansa leaned forward in her chair. “Which charges confuse you? Lets start with the simplest one. You hired an assassin to murder Lady Margaery, and make it appear as if my sister was responsible. Do you deny it?”

“I know nothing of this shocking act beyond what we have just been told,” Littlefinger protested.

“You were behind it, but although it’s the most recent of your crimes, it is also the least of them, since it failed to achieve its purpose. Let’s move on to some of those other charges. You murdered my aunt, Lysa Arryn. You pushed her through the Moon Door and watched her fall. Do you deny it?

He paused, perhaps surprised that Sansa would change her own story on that matter, but then he said, “I did it protect you.”

“You did it to take power in the Vale,” she replied coldly. “Earlier, you conspired to murder Jon Arryn. You gave Lysa Tears of Lys to poison him. Do you deny it?”

At the mention of their dead lord, Sansa could see the interest of Lord Royce and the other knights from the Vale focusing sharper. Littlefinger must have sensed it too, because he moved to the center of the room, speaking to them as much as to her. “Whatever your aunt might have told you, she was a troubled woman. She imagined enemies everywhere.”

That was true, but it was a truth meant to conceal his lies. “You had Aunt Lysa send a letter to our parents, telling them the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn, when really it was you. The conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters, it was you who started it. Do you deny it?”

Littlefinger shook his head, and Sansa could see the fear starting to rise within him. For once, he wasn’t in control of the situation. He didn’t know how much she knew or how she knew it, and Sansa pressed that advantage. “You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Joffery Baratheon to betray our father, Ned Stark. Thanks to your betrayal, he was imprisoned and later executed on false charges of treason. Do you deny it?”

She practically spat those final words. When Arya had told her the truth of what had happened in the throne room, Sansa had quivered from the force of her rage. That Littlefinger could have done that to her father, and yet pretended to be her friend for so long… the man truly had no conscience.

“I deny it,” Littlefinger proclaimed, louder than before. He stalked across the room, addressing the assembled knights and lords as he declared, “None of you were there to see what happened. None of you knows the truth.”

 _And now to drop the hammer._ Bran’s voice cut in, calm and sure. “You held a knife to his throat.” Littlefinger turned toward him, and the pale, stunned look on his face was all the proof needed that Bran spoke the truth. “You said, ‘I did warn you not to trust me.’”

Arya drew the Valyrian steel dagger from her belt. “You told our mother this knife belonged to Tyrion Lannister, but that was another one of your lies. It was yours.”

Littlefinger looked back and forth between the Starks, trying to decide on his next move. Finally, he came up to the high table, dropping his voice as he tried to address Sansa alone. “Lady Sansa, I have known you since you were a girl. I protected you.”

“Protected me?” She had listened to these lies for far too long. “By selling me to the Boltons?”

“If we could speak alone, I could explain everything.”

Sansa folded her hands, unmoved. How many times had she let this monster talk his way out of whatever outrage he’d just been responsible for? No more. Not after what she’d learned from Bran about their father’s death. Not after he’d nearly killed Margaery.

“How? By telling me that it’s all someone else’s fault? My sister’s, perhaps? That’s what you intended me to think. It’s what you’ve always done. Turn family against family, turn sister against sister. That’s what you did to our mother and Aunt Lysa and that’s what you tried to do to us. I’m a slow learner, it’s true, but I do learn.”

“Sansa, please, give me a chance to defend myself. I deserve that much.” Littlefinger looked in her eyes, and when she settled back in her chair, showing no inclination to pity, he changed tactics. Spinning around, he stormed toward Lord Royce. “I am Lord Protector of the Vale and I command you to escort me safely back to the Eire.”

This was the moment she had been waiting for. Littlefinger had once told her to anticipate every contingency, to let every possible scenario play out in her mind, and she had calculated that once Littlefinger saw Sansa was irrevocably against him, he would try to escape.

But his attempt was in vain. Lord Royce had heard enough, and his response was swift and final. “I think not,” he declared, and Sansa could see Littlefinger move from fear to full-blown panic, even as she silently exulted. They had done it. Littlefinger had lost his base of support in the Vale, which meant that, at last, she could be rid of him.

Littlefinger knew it too. He fell to his knees in front of her, trying anything he could think of to stave off what was coming. “Sansa, I beg of you. I loved your mother since the time I was a boy.”

Sansa thought of her mother, who had nearly died at the hands of an assassin Littlefinger had sent to murder her brother. “And yet, you betrayed her.”

“I loved you, more than anyone.”

She thought of the nightmare marriage with Ramsay that Littlefinger had arranged. Of the sister he had tried to make her kill. And of Margaery, who truly loved her, and who she loved, stabbed at his command. “And yet, you betrayed me.”

Sansa rose from her chair. “When you brought me back to Winterfell, you told me there’s no justice in the world, not unless we make it.” She gave a tiny nod to Arya, and said her final goodbye. “Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish. I will never forget them.”

“Sansa,” he began, but that was as far as he got. Arya stepped forward and her knife, the knife that had almost killed Bran, flashed across Littlefinger’s neck. He clutched at the wound as blood poured forth, his last words lost in the gargles and gasps of his dying. It was mercifully brief. Only seconds passed before he tumbled to floor, and it was over. Silence filled the room, and in that moment, Sansa didn’t feel either regret or joy. Instead, she had only one overriding thought: _Now, Margaery can be safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, the second half of this chapter is adapted from the show, albeit with appropriate changes given the course of the story. There should be two more chapters to go after this one, time enough for some wrap-up and a little more romance.


	13. Chapter 13

As she gazed out beyond the walls of Winterfell, Sansa was silent, her thoughts far away. So much had happened in the last day, and she was still trying to wrap her head around all of it.

From just down the battlement, Arya seemed to sense her pensive mood. “Are you all right?”

Sansa took a deep breath before answering. “I am. It’s just strange. In his own, horrible way, I believe he loved me.”

One of Arya’s eyebrows raised slightly. “He had a funny way of showing it.”

“Well, he was a terrible person,” Sansa deadpanned.

“He was. You did the right thing.”

“You did it.”

Arya shook her head. “I was just the executioner. You passed the sentence.”

Her words made Sansa think of what their father had used to say, that the man who passed the sentence should be the one who swung the sword. There was wisdom in that, but this time, it felt right that she, Arya, and Bran should each have played a role. What Littlefinger had done, he had done to their entire family, and they were all entitled to justice.

There was a long silence, and then Arya spoke again. “Margaery isn’t, though. A terrible person, I mean. She’s a lot like you, but she’s all right.”

Sansa would’ve chosen a word far stronger than ‘all right’ but for Arya to say that much about someone as lady-like as Margaery was high praise. “I’m glad you feel that way. And that you’re not too put off by our... romance.”

It was a word Sansa had never used to describe her and Margaery before. Growing up, she had taken for granted that a romance was between a boy and a girl, between the brave knights and graceful ladies in the songs she had adored, but maybe that didn’t need to be so. The love between her and Margaery was every bit as real as that found in those stories; why shouldn’t Sansa name it in the same way?

Arya’s thoughts on the matter were simpler. “After what we’ve been through, you and Margaery kissing isn’t something I’m going to worry about. Besides, when did I ever care about what other people thought a lady should do?”

“Never,” Sansa agreed.

“What choice did I have? No matter what I did, I was never going to be as good a lady as you, so I had to become something else.”

“And you did,” she replied, suddenly proud of Arya. Sansa had never considered how hard it must have been for her sister as a child, but after her own journey, she could appreciate the road Arya had travelled to become her own person. “Where did you learn how to fight like that, anyway?”

“It’s complicated. I spent time in Braavos, and a bunch of other places too. A lot happened to me along the way, but…” Arya hesitated before adding, “I never could’ve survived what you did.”

“You would’ve. Maybe in a different way I than did, but you would’ve. You’re the strongest person I know.”

A small smile appeared on Arya’s face. “I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Sansa laughed; that was probably true. “Well, don’t get used to it. You’re still very strange and annoying.”

Arya didn’t reply at first, but the smile stayed on her face as she turned back to the snowy fields beyond Winterfell. When she did speak again, her voice was wistful. “In winter, we must protect ourselves. Look after one another.”

“Father’s words.” Sansa finished them. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.” She smiled back at Arya on that last; whatever their differences, they _were_ a pack, the two of them, and Bran, and Jon, and now Margaery as well.

“I miss him.”

“Me too,” Sansa said softly. “But we’re still here. House Stark survived.”

The sound of footsteps caused Sansa to turn, and the sight of Margaery walking toward them made her smile. “I’m not intruding, I hope.”

“Nah,” Arya replied, and as Margaery slid into Sansa’s arms, she added, “I figured you’d show up to see your lady eventually.”

After a brief but sweet kiss, Margaery turned to Arya. “That is why I came. But I’m glad to have another chance to thank you for saving my life. I know I’ve caused a great deal of trouble for all of you today.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Sansa told her. “Littlefinger would’ve had to be dealt with eventually. Your presence just brought things to a head.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Margaery replied.

“It’s also true.”

Their affectionate banter made Arya grin. “I’m going to let you two have your privacy.”

“Now, you worry about our privacy?” Sansa teased back.

Arya shrugged as she walked down the battlements toward the staircase, and Sansa took advantage of their newfound solitude to give Margaery a longer, deeper kiss. When it broke, she brushed a tender hand over her lover’s face. “I’m very glad you’re here. I mean, I always am, but especially now…”

Margaery tilted her head to kiss Sansa’s palm. “I understand. And I’m glad that Arya seems to be comfortable with us.”

“She is, Sansa agreed, “Even if she does find it all a bit too amusing. She never was one to care about what people are supposed to do, and it turns out she actually likes you.”

“That’s good to know.” Suddenly, a wicked smile spread across Margaery’s face. “You know, that makes me wonder: what sort of boys do you think Arya would like? Or girls maybe? She’s hard to read.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. She had seen more than her share of terrifying things these last few years, but the idea of Arya in love was more frightening than most of them. “I’m not sure I want to find out.”

“Well, whoever she falls for, they’d better treat her well.”

“At least if they want to keep all of their limbs,” Sansa agreed. The two of them settled into a comfortable embrace, Margaery resting her head against Sansa’s chest, while Sansa buried a hand in her lover’s hair. As the silky strands flowed through her fingers, Sansa felt herself relax at long last. They were alive, they were together, and finally, they had as much safety as could be hoped for in a world still at war. Right now, that was more than enough.

“How do you think Littlefinger knew?” Margaery asked after a time. “About us?”

“It’s hard to say. Perhaps someone in his pay heard or saw something…” She smiled. “Perhaps he just noticed how I look at you. I tried to be careful, but you don’t make it easy.”

Margaery leaned up and kissed her softly on the lips. “Neither do you, my love. I do wonder, though. What would have happened if he’d revealed our relationship when he was on trial?”

“That was never very likely.”

“Why not?”

“Because there wouldn’t have been any advantage in doing so for him. All it would’ve accomplished was to hurt me, and for Littlefinger to do that would’ve meant accepting that there was no way for him to fix things between us. Someone as arrogant as him couldn’t do that.”

Margaery laughed. “You really did learn his lessons well.”

“And yours. You do realize that with Littlefinger gone, you’re going to have to be my advisor on southern politics.”

“It will be my pleasure.” Margaery nuzzled up closer against her, burying her face in the crook of Sansa’s neck. “And it will give me a good reason to be at your side.”

Sansa tightened her embrace. “It will. I know we can’t have the heralds announce our romance,” –She was getting to like saying that word –“But as long as we’re discrete, I don’t think anyone will care either. After all, an army of the dead is marching on the Wall, and the lords of the North decided to make a bastard their king. I’d say the old rules don’t matter so much anymore.”

***

A smile appeared on Margaery’s face when she opened the door to Sansa’s chambers to find her lover already there, sitting behind her writing desk. At last, the upheaval caused by Littlefinger’s execution was starting to settle down. It had taken several days of careful work, but they had managed to reestablish most of the alliances in the Vale and supply chains for their army that he had been responsible for.

Sansa rose from her chair as Margaery closed the door, greeting her with a warm kiss. “I’m starting to get used to seeing you at the end of every day.”

“I am too.” She ran a hand through Sansa’s long hair, enjoying the pleased sigh that her touch produced. “Are you almost done with your paperwork?”

“About that…” Sansa slipped out of her arms, and went back over to the desk. On top of a pile of papers was a small scroll of the kind that ravens carried, and Sansa passed it to Margaery. “Maester Wolken brought me this message, but it’s meant for you.”

Margaery took the note, and as she read it, her heart caught in her throat.

_My dearest Margaery,_

_I assume that news of the fall of Highgarden has reached you by now, and you should know that I escaped before the Lannister army fully encircled us. I am now at Dragonstone, and although matters remain unsettled at the moment, I trust that we will be able to see one another before too long. In the meantime, I know that the conditions at Winterfell must be barbarous, but I hope that you are well none the less._

_Your devoted grandmother,_

_Olenna Tyrell_

“She’s alive,” Margaery said quietly, letting the news sink in.

Sansa smiled broadly at her. “I’m very happy for you. Especially since you don’t seem to find things _too_ barbarous here at Winterfell.”

“Not at all,” Margaery agreed. “There is a great deal to recommend this castle. And especially…” She ran a finger down the curve of Sansa’s neck. “Its lady. You know my grandmother doesn’t mean to be insulting. Well, perhaps she does, but it’s just her way. She was always fond of you.”

“I know that she was.” There was something hesitant in her voice, though, even as she drew Margaery back into her arms. “This news does make me wonder about something.”

“What is it?” Margaery asked cautiously.

“If we continue… this, then I don’t imagine either of us will marry again. For House Stark, that doesn’t present a problem. Jon will father heirs at some point, and there’s still Arya as well.” And Bran, though Sansa doubted that the Three-Eyed Raven would wed either. “But you’re the last living member of House Tyrell, aside from your grandmother.”

“I know that.” It was a thought that had occurred to Margaery as well. With Highgarden lost, it didn’t matter very much at present. What was a great House without a seat to pass down? But her grandmother would no doubt remind her that what was lost could be regained, just as Winterfell had been, and then the problem would return.

“And? I know how important family is.”

Margaery could feel the tension in Sansa’s body. Her lover feared that after all they had been through to be together, she would still lose Margaery to her duty. It was understandable. Her whole life, Margaery had been trained to excel at the game of thrones, and for a highborn lady, there was no more important move than her marriage.

And yet, Margaery had played enough. Three times, she had wed for advantage, and none of those marriages had brought her anything but pain and loss. No more. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said gently but firmly. “If we all make it through the wars to come, and House Tyrell does regain Highgarden, then we’ll figure something else out. I do have cousins, after all, and heirs can be adopted, other arrangements made.”

“Are you sure about that?” Sansa asked, as if she wasn’t certain she could believe what she was hearing.

“Quite.” She leaned up to kiss Sansa. “I’m through with marriage.”

Margaery could feel the intake of breath as Sansa’s chest unclenched, as well as hear the relief in her lover’s voice, “I’m so glad to hear that. You make me happy, Margaery. I didn’t know if that was even possible anymore, but with you, I really am.”

Margaery pulled her arms tighter around Sansa. There was a stinging at the corners of her eyes as tears began to form, but they were happy ones. “When I had nothing and no one, you took me in, Sansa. This is my home now, and it’s the only one I want, for as long as you want me in it.”

“I always will. I love you.” Now it was Sansa’s turn to initiate the kiss. It was longer that the one than before it, letting them drink in all the other had to offer.

“And I love you too,” Margaery whispered, kissing the side of Sansa’s neck. “Now, how about I take you to bed and show you just how much?”

Sansa’s first reaction to her suggestion was to smile, but then the look was replaced with a familiar hesitation. This time, though, it wasn’t out of concern for herself. “That’s a very tempting offer, but are you sure? Your shoulder…”

It was true that Margaery didn’t feel at her best. The lingering pain of her wound had kept their last few nights relatively chaste, but Margaery was done letting that hold her back. “Don’t worry. I may not be quite as nimble as usual, but I want this.”

“I do too.” Sansa slid a hand across Margaery’s face, brushing aside a few stray strands of her hair. “I never knew I could want anyone as much as I want you.”

The hunger in those words made Margaery’s heart beat faster. She could remember how closed down Sansa had been at first, how hesitant to explore her own desires. No more, it seemed. “Wonderful. Now, do you have any ideas about what you’d like to do tonight?”

“A few.” Sansa’s hands slid down Margaery’s slides, producing shivers when they brushed over the swells of her breasts.

Margaery purred happily. “Tell me more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go after this, with some more loving for our ladies.


	14. Chapter 14

Sansa slid a hand under Margaery’s breast, cupping it in her palm. Even through the heavy fabric, the pressure made Margaery gasp. It was a sound Sansa would never get tired of. Margaery had ignited something within her that Sansa had never felt before, and she couldn’t imagine giving it up.

Nor did she have to. At last, she and Margaery could stop constantly looking over their shoulders, and Sansa wanted to celebrate that fact. She needed to show Margaery just how much this meant to her, and one thing in particular came to mind.

“That thing you did for me last time, with your mouth, is it difficult?”

She very much enjoyed the way Margaery grinned at the suggestion. “It can take a little practice, but I’m definitely willing to help you learn, if that’s what you want.”

Sansa leaned closer to give Margaery a kiss. “It is. It felt _so_ good, and you deserve that too. Especially after what you’ve been through because of me.”

“Hey.” Margaery draped her good arm around Sansa’s shoulder, rubbing her back affectionately. “You didn’t send that assassin. It’s not your fault that Littlefinger was obsessed with you.”

Sansa shook her head. “I should’ve dealt with him sooner.”

“There were good reasons to wait. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone, and we’re still here.”

“We are,” Sansa agreed. She looped her arms around Margaery’s waist, leading her out of the study. Her bed beckoned, and they tumbled onto it together, kissing all the while. There was a giddiness in Sansa’s chest that she’d never felt before. For the first time in years, she was neither afraid of her own feelings nor the consequences of following them.

The two of them undressed one another swiftly, but when Sansa pulled Margaery’s dress down over her chest, her lover uncharacteristically hesitated. Touching the bandage around her shoulder with her other hand, she forced a smile. “I guess it’s my turn to be worried about my scars.”

Sansa ran a finger down the center of Margaery’s chest, brushing around the curve of a bare breast. “And mine to remind you how little they matter.”

“You’re very kind. It’s just... you look at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. I never want that to change.”

”It never will.”

Margaery smiled, and the trust in her eyes was clear. It reminded Sansa of what had convinced her she should pursue this relationship, and now it inspired Margaery to keep going. She slid her dress the rest of the way off, followed by her smalls. It was Sansa’s turn to smile. Maybe a night would come when the sight of her lover’s naked body wouldn’t take her breath away, but it wasn’t tonight.

“As beautiful as always,” she said with conviction. “Now, why don’t you get comfortable?”

Margaery settled back against the pillows, and Sansa began running her hands along her lover’s creamy skin. The smooth textures were delightful enough on their own, but what really thrilled Sansa were Margaery’s reactions. The flush of her skin, the way she arched into Sansa’s fingertips, the little purrs she let out… Those were worth more than all the treasure in the Iron Bank.

Sansa switched between the two breasts, first kissing their soft flesh before teasing the pink nipples with her tongue. They were achingly hard, and Sansa lavished attention on each of them in turn, licking and sucking until Margaery was left writhing beneath her.

Her lover’s legs spread, and Sansa shimmied lower. There was a line on Margaery’s stomach, fading but still red, and Sansa carefully avoided it while kissing the surrounding skin. In response, nimble fingers threaded through her hair, and Sansa purred. She loved Margaery’s touch, as well as her appreciation, and it made her want to do more.

When she reached the juncture of Margaery’s legs, her lover’s scent filled her nostrils. Their first time together, getting so much of it might have thrown Sansa, but no more. Besides, it was a woman’s scent, not… The rest of that thought was easy enough to banish. That was the past; Margaery was her future.

“Any advice?” she asked Margaery.

“The same as before. Start with what I did for you, and go from there.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

Little kisses along Margaery’s inner thighs rewarded Sansa with a pleased gasp, along with a first taste of her lover’s arousal. In the past, she hadn’t been bold enough to try it on her fingers, but though it was a bit tart, she liked the flavor all the same. It was proof of Margaery’s desire, and Sansa wanted more.

She got it when she ran her tongue across Margaery’s opening. It was just an experiment, but it still made Margaery moan. “Sansa,” she murmured. “Oh my Sansa.”

 _I am hers_ , Sansa realized. She would do anything for Margaery, and more than that, she wanted to. This wasn’t just a favor she was performing, not when it turned her on more than she once would’ve thought possible. She slid her tongue back and forth a few more times before catching a glimpse of Margaery’s clit, swollen with desire and peeking out from between her folds. Sansa made a pass across its length and Margaery’s hips twitched.

_Oh, my. This is going to be fun._

Sansa went slowly, but with purpose. Her hands slid over Margaery’s hips while her tongue tried to replicate the circular pattern that she had enjoyed so much. She lacked Margaery’s skill, but she did her best to make up for that with enthusiasm.

It seemed to work well enough. Margaery’s hand tensed against Sansa’s head, and her hips arched forward. The motion made it harder for Sansa to keep her tongue on Margaery’s clit, but producing such a reaction was still delightful. She kept licking until her jaw became sore, only then taking a break to scatter more kisses on Margaery’s inner thigh.

A needy moan came from above her, and Sansa looked up with questioning eyes. “Use your fingers too,” Margaery pleaded.

Her voice was tight with desire, inspiring Sansa to continue. A pair of her fingers slid easily into Margaery and Sansa curled them upward in search of the sensitive spot she’d found last time. Margaery’s inner walls clenched around her when she found it, and Sansa grinned. This _was_ fun.

She dipped her head down, and once her tongue was back on Margaery’s clit, it didn’t take long. It was complicated to manage moving her hand and tongue at the same time, but something must have worked. Soon, Margaery was tensing beneath her, and when she let out a long cry, Sansa knew she had it. Margaery’s clit twitched against her tongue, and more of her arousal spilled out over Sansa’s fingers.

It was such a beautiful sight that Sansa looked up in order to take it in fully, watching with wide eyes as her lover shook in the grip of her orgasm. It felt like it went on for ages, but it probably wasn’t that long before Margaery collapsed into the bed, her hand sliding off of Sansa’s head. “Thank you,” she panted.

“Of course. Besides, I enjoyed that too.” Sansa slid her fingers out, and this time she did lick them clean. She was growing to like the sticky liquid’s tang more and more, not to mention the way Margaery smiled down at her.

“So I see.”

“I know I still have a lot to learn. Sometimes it was tricky to keep focus, and my tongue…”

“It became sore, didn’t it?” Sansa nodded, and Margaery ran a hand over the side of her cheek. “That gets better with practice. But don’t worry, this time was absolutely wonderful.”

“I’m so glad.” She met Margaery’s eyes, starring deep into those green pools. ”It’s as you said, Margaery. I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours too, Sansa. Always.”

Warmth spread through Sansa’s chest, and she moved up alongside Margaery, kissing her softly. Her lover didn’t seem to mind the taste of herself, her tongue sliding eagerly into Sansa’s mouth.

They kept that up for a long time, just holding and kissing one another. As turned on as Sansa was, she didn’t want to rush the moment, but when Margaery whispered, “Now, how can I thank you more fully?” she wasn’t about to pass up the offer.

“Whatever you want to do will be lovely, but I’m still a little worried about your shoulder. It might be hard for you to prop yourself up.”

“That is true.” Margaery pursed her lips. “How would you like to ride my face instead?”

Sansa’s swallowed as she considered that. “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“Don’t worry. It’s like what you just did, but instead of me laying between you legs, you sit on top of me.”

Like so many of the things they’d already done, Sansa hadn’t considered the possibility before Margaery brought it up, but she liked the idea once she’d heard it. “That does sound interesting.”

“Oh, it is.”

Sansa quickly shed what remained of her clothes. Her smalls were damp when she pulled them off, and her heart beat faster as she straddled Margaery. With her good hand, Margaery guided her so that Sansa was sitting on top of her chest, her mouth tantalizingly close to Sansa’s aching sex. “There we go,” Margaery purred, her hot breath making Sansa shiver. “This way, I have a lovely view of you while I do this.”

Her tongue darted out, and at the sudden, unexpected contact against her clit, Sansa exhaled sharply. “That’s, ah, a good thing.”

“Mm hmm.” After her initial bold move, Margaery went more slowly. Her next kisses were to Sansa’s stomach, and then to her thighs. Sansa quivered, desperately wanting Margaery to get to her clit, and yet unwilling to rush this.

Mercifully, she didn’t have to wait for long. Margaery reached her sex, and Sansa’s hips thrust forward. She’d been craving that wet pressure ever since Margaery introduced her to it, and now she was having trouble holding back.

Margaery didn’t make it easy. She used her good hand to brace Sansa, while that wonderful tongue did the work of pleasuring her. First she licked circles around her clit, and then Margaery drew Sansa between her lips. _That’s what I forgot to do_ , Sansa thought before a gentle suck made her forget about everything else. “So good,” she muttered. “You’re so good.”

The only reply she received was a pleased murmur, but with Margaery’s mouth wrapped around her clit, the sound made Sansa buck hard. Her eyes squeezed shut as she kept riding, allowing her to concentrate on the blissful feeling spreading through her body. It was so overwhelming that she scarcely noticed Margaery’s hand leave her hip. The building pressure between her legs was all Sansa could think about. She was melting and near bursting all at once, and she couldn’t keep from crying out, over and over.

“Margaery, oh yes, Margaery.”

Another sound came from Margaery, and even through her ecstasy, Sansa could tell it was one of pleasure. She opened her eyes to see Margaery’s arm angled between her own legs, and Sansa flushed as she guessed what it might be doing there.

Margaery paused, smiling up naughtily at Sansa. “I couldn’t help myself.”

In spite of the loss of direct stimulation, the raw desire behind Margaery’s words nearly sent Sansa straight over the edge. “Oh Gods,” she stammered, nearly breathless. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop any of it.”

“Whatever you say.”

From her position, it was impossible to see exactly what Margaery did to herself next, but it made her gasp, a sound that sent a hungry shiver through Sansa. A moment later, Margaery drew Sansa back between her lips. Sansa’s clit twitched against her tongue, and she bent lower, fisting her hands in the blankets as she tried to anchor herself. It was in vain. The feelings were too overwhelming to fight, and Sansa’s hips bucked uncontrollably before her body went rigid.

When the climax building within her hit, it hit hard. It was all Sansa could do to keep from falling over as powerful spasms ripped through her, her orgasm flooding every part of her body. Beneath her, she felt Margaery tense as well, letting out a gasp around Sansa’s clit. The vibrations sent another wave of pleasure through Sansa, and this time she collapsed entirely, falling off of Margaery and landing beside her on the bed.

Even as she kept shaking, Sansa seized hold of Margaery, clutching onto her as last of their climaxes washed over them. In time, the sharp pleasure gave way to a deep satiation but she kept Margaery in her arms regardless, kissing whatever places were convenient all the while.

“Another wonderful suggestion,” she whispered in Margaery’s ear, and her lover grinned.

“I’m glad you thought so. It was lovely for me too, as I think you noticed.”

A little jolt went through Sansa at the memory. “Gods, yes. You doing that to yourself while I was in your mouth… It was incredible.”

“I’m glad to hear that, because there are plenty of other ways we can take our pleasure together, if you’re interested.”

“I am.” Sansa ran her hand through Margaery’s hair, gazing down into her beautiful eyes. “I want to learn everything you can show me. Even…”

She hesitated and Margaery looked up at her expectantly. “Yes?”

“Do you remember our first time, when you started to go inside me?”

Margaery cupped Sansa’s face with one hand. “Of course. And I understand why you didn’t want me to.”

“You were so sweet about that. But I do think I want to try it some time with you. You seem to enjoy it so much.”

The tension broken, Margaery laughed. “I do. I’ll admit, it can be uncomfortable if you’re not properly prepared, but when you are…” She licked her lips. “It’s okay if you decide don’t like it, but whenever you want to try, I’ll be here.”

“Yes, you will,” Sansa agreed, saying the words to herself as much as to her lover. Margaery might have come to Winterfell out of desperation, but Sansa knew that she stayed because she wanted to. Her rose had found new soil to grow in, and Sansa had found someone who loved her and whom she would love for the rest of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that brings A Rose in Winter to its close. I originally envisioned it as more like 3-5 chapters, but there turned out to be much more to say, and I think it came our pretty well. Some people have asked about the story continuing beyond S7, E7, but I always envisioned this story as canon-adjacent, where things kept to the show aside from the single change of Margaery surviving and coming to Winterfell. (The implication I took from the show was the Olenna didn't try to escape Highgarden because she had nothing to live for. With Margaery alive, that wouldn't be the case)
> 
> However... There will be a S8, and there's an excellent chance that after it airs, I will write some more AU adventures for our ladies based on it. In the meantime, I have plenty of other projects to keep me busy. My latest, if your so inclined, is a Star Wars story, We Go On, featuring Jynn Erso and Enfys Nest, where I continue this story's tradition of writing happier endings for excellent heroines. Thank for reading, and let me know what you thought of the story and its ending.


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